Where in the World is Felicity Smoak?
by hlee0890
Summary: "What are you saying?" Oliver's hands clenched at his sides and John could see the control he was exercising not to run out the door toward Felicity's apartment right then. "I'm saying that according to the World Wide Web, Felicity Smoak doesn't exist."
1. Chapter 1

76 days had passed.

And for 76 days Oliver had felt as if he was back on the Gambit's small lifeboat, drifting aimlessly, letting the unforgiveable winds rock him back and forth as he waited - waited to die, or to live, or for just some change in the breeze to bring him finally, ultimately, to a destination. Land, heaven, or hell, it ceased to matter. After days spent at sea, he had decided then that any end was better than the agonizing wait.

It was the wait that tortured him above all else.

For 76 days Oliver waited for the news that would bring him safely to shore, or drown him in merciless waters. As much as he knew the odds, the glowering numbers coupled with the complete and utter lack of any evidence, he still prayed for the day the waiting would end.

He had perched himself onto the cold metal table in the lair beneath Verdant, feet dangling lifelessly under him as he absentmindedly fiddled with the object in his hands. He knew a decent amount of time must have passed as he remained in his fixed position, watching the computer in front of him run the same facial recognition scans it had been running for 76 days straight.

And still there was no trace.

The bright green fern, growing wildly out of control to his left, seemed to mock him as he rubbed his thumbs across the lenses of the small glasses in his hands, his own mind conjuring up the face the computer failed to find. He let his head drop away from the screen for a moment to study the dark-framed glasses, the image of their owner so clear in his memory that he almost felt as if he could reach out and touch her.

In his mind, she looked at him in the same way she did all those months ago as they stood in the hallway of the hospital, when she had practically begged him to quit dangling maybes; to just let her go.

He couldn't then.

Just like he couldn't now.

He'd live the rest of his life in this torturous limbo of dreading the worst and hoping for the best if he had to. He'd wait as long as it took. Finding her was the only way the torture would end for Oliver, but there were two very different ways in which she could be found.

When the wait was over, when he did finally find her, Oliver Queen's fate would be sealed. It would either mean death or life for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Okay, so this is my first attempt at an Arrow fic. I've had this idea in the back of my mind for weeks now and am only just now attempting to put it to paper. I desperately love the Arrow characters and so want to do them justice. This story will feature alternating points of view; it's new for me, so I'd really, really appreciate any and all input. PLEASE let me know what you think.

Anyway, happy reading Arrow fans. =)

* * *

The sounds of Roy and Oliver's hand to hand combat reverberated throughout the walls of the lair. John Diggle had become so accustomed to the sound, however, that he tuned it out easily enough. Had Felicity been there, she more than likely would have reprimanded them several times for how loud they were being before ultimately escaping into the music blared from her bright pink headphones.

Diggle sat in Felicity's chair watching the screens before him, careful not to disrupt any of the programs she had left running a couple days earlier. They were all well aware of how protective she was of her equipment. But since she had taken the prestigious job offer and corner office from Ray Palmer, Felicity had been spending less and less time at her controls, leaving John and the others covering the slack. Or attempting to cover it, at least.

He knew she felt bad about it, knew that every minute she spent away from Team Arrow she worried about them all. But he couldn't fault her for wanting more out of her life than what the team had to offer. He couldn't fault her at all for trying to be happy.

A painful sounding grunt lifted Diggle's eyes to the training area. Oliver's moves were frantic and sloppy as his breaths increased, delivering punches faster but connecting with nothing. Roy took the obvious opportunity and knocked Oliver's unguarded legs right out from underneath him. His back landed on the floor with a loud thud that echoed through the space before only the sounds of their breathing filled the room.

Digg fixed his eyes back on the computer, shaking his head infinitesimally. Of course some of them took Felicity's absence worse than others. He was getting more and more frustrated each day with both Oliver and Felicity's stubbornness. Dancing around their obvious feelings had become more of a distraction to everyone than any actual relationship would have been. But so much had happened in the last few weeks that Digg feared they'd never get their heads out of their asses.

He and Roy once had a bet going on how long it would take them to get together. Back before the world had been turned upside down by Sarah's death. Now they avoided the subject just as carefully as Oliver and Felicity.

An incessant beeping to his left drew his attention. It was one of Felicity's motion sensor alarms showing that someone had entered the club above them. Which was odd, considering that it was only just past noon. After a few quick swipes on the screen, John pulled the security feed of Verdant's main area. He cursed under his breath when the image filled the screen.

Staring directly into the security camera was none other than Ray Palmer. He held up a cell phone, gesturing toward it before placing it next to his ear. Oliver's phone rang at that exact moment.

"I don't recognize the number," Oliver said while making his way over to Diggle, phone in hand.

"I have a pretty good idea of who it is," John said.

Oliver circled around the desk to see what it was that John stared at. The same curse escaped Oliver's lips. "How would he have this number?"

"Or know that you're here," Roy spoke from behind them.

"Only one way to find out," John pointed out.

Oliver considered for a few seconds longer before sliding his finger across the screen and putting it on speaker phone. "What?"

In the camera feed, they watched as Palmer's eyebrows pulled together. "We need to talk. Preferably in less-growly voices, if you don't mind. I know you're here, so why don't you just come on up and join me." Palmer hung up before Oliver could respond and placed the phone in his suit jacket. They all watched as he casually took a seat at the bar despite the fact that there would be no one there to take his order.

"He knows I'm here," Oliver uttered, staring blankly at the phone screen in his hand.

"The question is," John replied, standing. "What else does he know?"

Oliver looked between the two of them. John could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"Keep watching," he instructed as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. John and Roy watched as he headed up the stairs. They both waited until they heard the familiar click of the door shutting above them before turning around to watch the screen.

"Can you turn the audio on?" Roy asked as he placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"I can," he replied taking the seat again. "But if this turns out to be about some ridiculous love triangle, I'm turning it off."

Roy looked at him surprised. "What else could it possibly be about?" John could hear the smile in his voice and shook his head.

"Sorry kid. You'll have to get your gossip at the hair salon with everyone else."

They both hushed as Oliver appeared on the screen. He didn't take a seat despite Ray's greeting and request.

"What do you want, Palmer?" His sounded a bit muffled through the speaker, but was otherwise clear.

"I was hoping you could tell me where Felicity is," Ray replied, suddenly appearing very anxious. Oliver took a step forward.

"Come again?" The growl had returned to his voice.

"She didn't come into work this morning. So I assumed she was with you, but she usually calls or texts and since I received neither I started to think that perhaps she was just upset with me again. So I tried calling her-"

"Hold on," Oliver interrupted. "Why would you assume she was with me?" John could detect the edge in Oliver's voice despite the muffled audio.

Ray flashed him an incredulous look. "You _do_ know that I have a genius level IQ, right? It didn't take me long to figure out where Felicity kept disappearing to. And once I had that, the _who_ wasn't a mystery for long either."

Oliver shook his head. "I don't know what you're thinking, but Felicity and I aren't..." He paused, seeming unable to find the right way to describe the relationship that he was about to fervently deny.

Ray's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Oliver blankly. "I know that," he said, as if that were obvious. "I'm talking about her working with _the Arrow._" His hands gestured up and down toward Oliver as he said this, his implication clear.

John and Roy exchanged worried glances.

Oliver remained silent for several tension-filled seconds before letting out a breath and stepping forward. "We can come back to that at a later time. What happened when you called Felicity?"

"She didn't answer. Or rather, it didn't ring because the phone line had been disconnected."

At those words, John's heart stuttered at the same time Roy stood to his full height, both men suddenly on full alert. John started typing commands into the other computer almost immediately. "The tracker Oliver had on Felicity is dead. I can't see her," John slammed his hands on the keyboard as he stared frustratingly at the ERROR on the screen.

"I went to her apartment, too," Ray continued. John could only imagine the look on Oliver's face then. "I know, I know. Kind of blurring the lines between employer and employee-"

"Crossing you mean."

"Anyway, I knocked but she didn't answer. I do _cross_ the line at picking her locks though, but then I got sort of worried so I went back to the office to see when the last time she used her security badge and that's when the worry turned into panic and I knew I had to come find you because I do know who you are and what you do, so-"

"Ray!" Oliver interjected, causing Ray to finally take a breath. John watched as he stood and started pacing in front of the bar. "Get to the point." Oliver's patience had come and gone.

Ray stopped and fixed Oliver with a frustrated glare. "There's no record of her last entry. Or any entry for that matter. Because there is no record of her having ever worked at Palmer Technologies."

John stopped trying to call Felicity's phone to focus on Ray's words. "But it goes beyond that. I did a detailed search and there's no record of her having worked at QC either, or anywhere. No MIT. No credit score. No Netflix account. Even her social security number has been wiped."

"What are you saying?" Oliver's hands clenched at his sides, and John could see the control he was exercising not to run out that door and toward Felicity's apartment right then.

"I'm saying that for all intents and purposes, according to the World Wide Web, Felicity Smoak doesn't exist."

Oliver broke out into a sprint then, heading for the exit without a word in response. John grabbed his glock and made his way to the door, Roy at his heels. By the time they made it to the street, Oliver's Ducati had already disappeared from view. They made it to John's vehicle parked a block over and sped in the direction of Felicity's apartment, having no idea what they would find there.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**_:_ I forgot to explain that chapter 2 takes place 76 days _before_ chapter 1. Which, of course, I'm sure you all figured out anyway. :) Thanks for all the follows and favorites.

And reviews are MUCH appreciated. I'd love your feedback!

Happy reading!

* * *

Oliver could recall nothing from the 23 minute drive to Felicity's apartment. Palmer's words were the only thoughts running through his head as he pulled in front of the building with a deafening screech of tires. He processed the blurry image of a stunned doorman as he ran past him to the stairwell, where he took three steps at a time toward the third floor. He wished not for the first time that _he_ had been struck by the super speed lightning bolt.

He didn't pause as he reached her door, kicking it in with the same forward momentum he'd been running off of since Palmer's words hit him. _Felicity Smoak doesn't exist._ Oliver's vision had turned red as the implications of his words began to settle within him. He didn't allow them to process fully, however; choosing instead to shut down his emotions and focus on what needed to be done.

And now he was there, standing in the entry way of her small apartment and being hit with the scent of lavender and vanilla that was so distinctly Felicity.

"Felicity!" He called. Silence.

As he made his way through her apartment, searching each room (which didn't take long since there were only two bedrooms and one bathroom), he realized for the first time that he had never actually been inside her apartment. Never witnessed her in the comfortable confines of her home, lounging care-free, maybe eating some mint chocolate chip ice cream while watching a movie. He could easily imagine it though. Perhaps that is where their date would have progressed to if things hadn't gone cataclysmically wrong. He turned slowly in her tiny living room, taking it all in as a deep remorse and regretful longing assaulted him. He paused when he caught sight of the Robin Hood poster hanging in the center of the room.

Again he imagined if things had progressed naturally after their date, being invited into her apartment and spotting the poster for the first time. He could easily see the faint coloring of Felicity's cheeks and hear the embarrassed babbling as she attempted to explain away the coincidence.

A lump had formed in his throat as the imaginations fell away and reality settled in. Felicity wasn't in her home. She hadn't gone to work. Her cell phone had been cut off and records wiped clean.

Oliver's blood ran cold.

Someone had taken her and done a hell of a job covering their tracks. There was no other explanation. But he would uncover each one of those tracks. He would find them. And her. The firm resolve settled in his stomach and his fingers clenched into a tight fist in response. The sudden urge to hit something fogged all of his other senses until something caught his eye from inside her bedroom.

His first pass through her room had been quick. Now as he took his time going over the space where she got what little sleep she was able, the lump formed in his throat again as he fully considered _this _room. This room where Felicity was probably the most relaxed and unguarded; this room that housed Felicity's sleeping form each night, with its brightly colored walls that likely heard some of her most revealing sleep-induced babbles. Oliver never thought it possible that someone could be jealous of a room, but he suddenly found himself intensely envious of these four walls. He wanted to be able to see Felicity lying in her bed, where the sweet peace of unconsciousness relaxed the features of her already flawless face. He wanted to see that frown that was now so often present on her face disappear by whatever pleasant dreams or fantasies filled her mind. He wanted so much.

He crossed the space and sat on the edge of her unmade bed. Her small black glasses sat in their open case on the nightstand. He picked them up carefully, as if handling the most precious relic known to man and studied them closely.

"Oliver."

Oliver looked up to see Diggle and Roy standing in Felicity's living room, both looking very out of place amidst the bright colors and light spilling in through her windows. He stood and joined them in the living room, placing the glasses carefully in his jacket pocket. She would need them when he found her.

"Does anything look out of place?" Diggle asked, scanning the area.

"I, I don't…" Oliver began, unable to admit that he'd have no way of knowing if something appeared amiss.

"You've never been here." Palmer surmised, his voice coming from the hallway outside the apartment. They all turned at the sound of his voice. "I've barged in this door before, but never when three vigilantes stood in the living room, so I figured I should announce myself first."

"You shouldn't be here, Palmer," Oliver said threateningly.

"The hell I shouldn't," he spat back, stepping fully into the room. "You three might spend the most time with Felicity but none of you _really_ know her. You can't tell me if anything looks off here. You didn't even notice she was missing!"

The three men stood in silence before Diggle moved to step in between Oliver and Palmer. "If you are somehow implying that we don't care about Felicity, you might want to get that genius level IQ of yours checked." Diggle's voice was calm, but only Oliver could hear the warning in his words.

"I'm not implying that," Palmer backtracked. Oliver turned away from the other men and began scanning the room again. Palmer's voice had the unique capacity of making Oliver's blood boil by just the sound of it, so he thought it better to make himself busy. "I'm just saying that you all only see a specific side of her, the side you need for your mission. She's more than just a part of your team."

"We know that," Diggle replied.

"All of her pictures are gone," Palmer cut him off, surprising them all. Oliver's movements froze. "She had photographs on her refrigerator. And framed ones along the hallway. They're all gone."

Oliver scanned the room and confirmed Palmer's observations, filing away the unpleasant thought that Palmer had been in this apartment before and Oliver had not.

"Who would do this?" It was Roy who finally voiced what they were all thinking in that moment.

"Oliver we need to contact the police and file a missing persons report. I know you don't like the idea of them stepping on your toes, but we are out of our element here. We have no idea how to go forward," Diggle spoke and Oliver nodded mindlessly.

"Do you think this has something to do with the Arrow?" Palmer asked.

Roy got in his face. "Or maybe it has something to do with that mega suit your building in your office."

"We don't know anything," Diggle interceded, waiting until Roy looked him in the eye. "Why don't we hold off on the blame game until we can figure some more out."

"Call Lance." The three men looked at Oliver simultaneously. His voice sounded off, even to him. Clipped. Lethal. Oliver had been benched and the Arrow brought in. "Call Lance and file the report."

* * *

Diggle and Roy left shortly after the phone call was made to see if they could locate Felicity on any of the city's security feeds. Without Felicity there to do the actual hacking, however, it was probably going to take some time.

Oliver leaned against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and watched as investigators took pictures of the room. He had been expecting only one investigator to show, given the procedures in place for filing a missing persons report, but was surprised two uniforms and a detective showed up and immediately went to work documenting the scene and asking questions of Palmer. Before he could question it further, Captain Lance appeared in the doorway.

"Queen?" he asked, surveying the room briefly before approaching Oliver. "What are you doing here?"

"I called him," Palmer interjected before Oliver to reply. "I figured as Felicity's former employer he might have some idea of where she'd gone to."

Lance cast a suspicious, if not disapproving, glance over him before nodding. He stepped further into the room and rested his hands on his hips as he looked around.

"I'm surprised to see you here though, Captain," Palmer continued. "Not that I'm complaining, I just didn't expect the Captain to show up for a missing persons case."

"Ms. Smoak is a friend," Lance answered, looking up at the Robin Hood poster. He muttered something under his breath and shook his head before focusing on the detective. "What do we know, Carl?"

"Not much, sir," the detective answered. "There's no sign of a struggle. The place has been wiped down, no fingerprints. All her photographs are missing. According to Mr. Palmer, her records have been removed from all databases; we'll of course have to double check that back at the precinct. The door was forced open, but Mr. Queen has taken credit for that."

Lance looked back at Oliver with a raised eyebrow. "It was locked," he explained with a shrug.

Oliver and Palmer watched as he circled the room, mentally cataloging its contents. "When was the last time you talked to her?"

"Friday. Just before she left the office," Palmer answered. Lance looked to Oliver, waiting on his response. "Friday," was all he said. Not wanting to give too much away. She had been at the foundry until about 11:30 on Friday night, the details of their last encounter were fresh on his mind. She'd told him she needed a weekend and to not expect her Saturday or Sunday before she stormed away.

Oliver had made sure she got home okay, checking her tracker half an hour later, and then gave her the privacy she wanted.

He should have gone after her then.

"All right," Lance said, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Carl, I want you to stay on top of this. Let me know anything you find out. Queen, Palmer- be ready to come in when he has more questions." They both nodded their acquiesce.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I've got to make a phone call."

Twenty minutes later Oliver received a text message from Laurel: _Dad wants to meet_.

"I've got to go," Oliver told Palmer.

"What could be more important than this?" Palmer asked him accusingly.

"Nothing," Oliver answered, walking away from him. "There's absolutely nothing more important."

* * *

Oliver, Roy, and Diggle spent the next several hours searching police security feeds and putting in place a facial recognition program for Felicity. So far, there had been no hits. The three knew that they were out of their element though, so Roy had suggested they call in a favor to Star Labs. Barry and Co. quickly agreed to help them broaden their search. When dusk fell over the city, Oliver left to meet with Captain Lance.

"Captain," Oliver spoke with a voice modulator from behind where Lance stood on top of Felicity's apartment building. Lance continued staring out onto the street below for several seconds before turning toward him. His face was grim.

"Do you know who took her? Was it 'cause of the work she does with you?" He got right down to business; Oliver didn't miss the accusation in his tone.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be wasting my time up here," he answered.

"I guess that was an idiotic question anyway. Why else would she have been taken?" he mused out loud and began pacing. "Has there been any demands? Anyone taking credit for this?"

"No."

"So we've got nothing, that's what you're saying?" Lance asked, his voice rising in anger. "The great irony of course being that Felicity would probably already have this figured out by now. Kid's a genius... could've gone places, done anything, but she had to get caught up in this life."

Oliver didn't respond. What could he say? He already knew he'd taken away the life she could have had.

"She's not out there risking her life like you, or Laurel. She was supposed to be the safe one! But my guys are telling me that she's been _erased_, for lack of a better word. They can't even find her birth certificate. The big question is why?! I mean, besides Ms. Smoak, who would even know _how _to do that?"

Oliver turned away, willing himself to reign in his emotions. "I don't have those answers. But I will find her. Whatever it takes."

* * *

Oliver returned to the foundry to find Diggle, Roy, and Laurel standing around the computer screens. "Anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing yet," Digg answered for the group.

He walked over to the case where he kept his bow and returned it, with a little more force than was necessary. He felt three sets of eyes boring into his back. "Ollie, we're going to find her," Laurel finally said. "But in the mean time, I got a tip from an informant who said he knows where the next shipment of Vertigo is being delivered. This could be our chance to finally get the rest of it off the streets."

Anger filled him at her words. "Let me make myself clear," he said, facing the group. "Finding Felicity is the only thing that matters right now."

"You can't be ser-"

"The _only_ thing!" Oliver spat, cutting off Laurel's words.

Diggle took a step forward and crossed his arms. "We can't just stop what we do here, Oliver. The city needs to see that the Arrow is still out there. She wouldn't want you to put everything on hold for her."

"You want me to just carry on like nothing's changed?! I can't do that, Diggle! Would you give up?! If it were Lyla? Or Thea?" he bellowed, cutting his fierce eyes over to Roy. "I will not accept that she's just gone. I will never accept that!"

"IT'S FELICITY!" John's shout echoed throughout the foundry, silencing everything. Even the buzz of the computer equipment seemed to have stilled in response to his outburst. Oliver watched as the man pinched the bridge of his nose and took several calming breaths. He saw Roy and Laurel watching as well, equal amounts of shock coloring their features.

"It's _Felicity_, Oliver," John finally continued, drawing her name out as his voice softened considerably. "And _that_ is why none of us will ever give up. You're a bigger fool than I ever thought if you think she's only important to you."

Oliver looked to the floor, ashamed. Of course, she was important to them all. She was Felicity – the light and soul of the entire operation. The very heart of Team Arrow, as she so often liked calling it. But she was so much more than that. The center of everything. She had become gravity itself by effectually anchoring him to this world. Without her Oliver found himself drifting into what could only be described as nonexistence. Somewhere along the way, without knowing when or how, Felicity had become the personification of life to him. Not just surviving, but _living._

"I know, but I just can't..." he sucked in a painful breath. "I can't not focus all my attention on finding her. Nothing else matters…" He let his words trail off, suddenly very aware of Laurel standing just six feet from him. Things had been over with them for a long time now, but for some reason he feared voicing the depth of his feelings for Felicity just then.

John took a small step forward. "I know, man. We all do. And we will find her; it's just going to take some time."

"Yeah, unfortunately the best person to find Felicity is Felicity," Roy said, letting out a humorless laugh.

"We're going to need help," John surmised.

"My dad is already in on the manhunt. He should be able to pull some strings locally," Laurel added.

"Barry has got his people over at Star Labs on it, too," Roy interjected..

"A.R.G.U.S. will have better facial recognition software than us. I can see what Lyla can make happen."

Oliver nodded his agreement to each statement, though he was becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the scope of their search. They had no threats, no claims, no leads or clues… Felicity Smoak had vanished without a shred of evidence left behind. And he had no idea where to start looking.

"There's something else we'll need, Oliver," John said, his tone making Oliver finally break out of his reverie. "Resources. Money."

Oliver couldn't even offer that much anymore. Was it possible to feel any more useless at this point? Then it suddenly dawned on him why John was bringing this up.

"Diggle…"

"I know you don't like it, but it's necessary. We need him." Oliver shot him a look that had him immediately back peddling. "Okay, we need his money."

Laurel was looking back and forth between the two men. "Who exactly are we talking about here, boys?"

"Ray Palmer," Roy answered for her, his opinion of the man evidenced in his tone.

"The man who took over Queen Consolidated?"

"The man who bought it just because it was for sale," John corrected. "He's the one who first discovered that everything on Felicity had been wiped off the grid. He's got the money, and the motivation."

"Can we trust him?" Laurel asked.

Oliver growled under his breath and turned his back to the group. It wasn't that he didn't see John's logic, he just hated the idea of involving Palmer. But he also knew that he would have to set his personal feelings aside in order to accomplish the task. They would need him.

"He's probably already started his own search anyway, might as well combine our knowledge," or lack thereof, he added mentally, slumping his shoulders in defeat. Suddenly very tired, he walked over and retrieved his bow from the case. "Suit up. We'll take care of this shipment, then I'll go pay Palmer a visit."

The group went to work readying themselves for their night. Oliver tried and failed to ignore the empty chair where she should be sitting right now, giving out details of the information related to their upcoming mission, watching out for them, protecting them...like he should have been doing for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I'm so encouraged by all the follows and favorites this story has received thus far!

HUGE shout out to all those who have reviewed this story. Your feedback gives me life. :)

In case you hadn't noticed, this story is very much character-driven. As a writer, I'm interested in exploring how different characters would react to Felicity's disappearance because, in many ways, she's the one who links all of these characters together. For that reason, I give you a chapter in Ray Palmer's POV. Sorry guys, I had to. He didn't take no for an answer =P

_Happy reading Arrow fans! _XOXO

* * *

Ray Palmer wasn't accustomed to feeling helpless. He was a man of means and resources that usually enabled him to get whatever he just so happened to be wanting at that time. His high level IQ also ensured that there were no problems which he couldn't solve.

Sitting at Felicity's desk, however, he'd never felt so helpless. Powerless. At a loss. Confused… Words he didn't normally have in his expansive vocabulary. Not exactly surprising, he found her computer hard drive had been wiped, the only sign now that it belonged to her in the bubbles that floated across the screen, popping every few seconds. One of the greatest IT minds he'd ever encountered and she chose bubbles as a screen saver. The girl was a walking contradiction. Beautiful, blonde, high-spirited, funny; all the while being brilliant, fierce, determined, and (he had to admit) a little scary at times.

Ray pulled the small yellow post-it note from his jacket pocket and studied the scribbled words for probably the hundredth time in the last twelve hours. _Take a break,_ it read in Felicity's messy scrawl. He'd found it stuck to his computer screen early Saturday morning, nearly six hours after she'd left for the evening.

A walking contradiction indeed, for he knew that the end of her work day at Palmer Technologies only meant the beginning of her night spent helping the Arrow "protect" the city. Which had to be why she was missing now; she must have been targeted by one of his enemies. But he'd be lying if he said a small part of him wasn't worried that maybe the kid had been right, and it did have something to do with Ray's work.

Before he could allow the guilt to go any deeper, a rap on the open glass door startled him out of his thoughts. Oliver Queen stood in the doorway, hand still raised in knocking. "How did you get in here?" The official work day had ended hours ago.

"My name used to be on the building, remember?"

Ray knew that the guards wouldn't have let him in at this hour. "Did being CEO teach you how to master a B and E?"

"No, my other job taught me that," Queen walked over to the large windows and stared at the city below. "Felicity and I once jumped out of this window," he said conversationally, reaching up to tap his index finger on the glass. "I didn't even think, just reacted. And she just…held on, jumped right with me, completely trusting that I wasn't leading us to our deaths."

Ray wanted to ask questions but stayed silent as Oliver seemed to get lost in the memory.

"I put her life on the line so many times, yet she never doubted me. And now…" he exhaled and turned to face Ray. The look in his eyes contrasted with the rest of him; Ray thought it was a look that belonged to a man who'd lived a hundred lifetimes, rather than just a third of one. "I need your help, Ray. I need you to help me find Felicity."

* * *

Ray followed Queen's bike back to Verdant where they both parked in the alley behind the building. Steam filled the darkened space around them as Oliver wordlessly led them into a back entrance. Once inside, Queen entered a code on the keypad of another door and cool air hit Ray's face when he stepped back and opened it.

Ray's steps slowed as his feet hit the metal stairs and the full scope of the room was revealed. The basement had been repurposed as a lair of sorts – complete with computers, weapons, costumes, and a salmon ladder. A group of people stood in the center of the room looking his way, probably waiting while he soaked it all in.

"Pretty cool right?" A young Hispanic man spoke, mouthful of Twizzlers.

"That might be one word for it," Ray agreed, extending his hand. "Ray Palmer."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Ray," he replied, throwing his candy on a nearby counter in order to accept his handshake. "Cisco. And this is Caitlin and Barry, we work at S.T.A.R. Labs in Central City. Roy, Mr. Diggle, and Laurel you already know. And that's Lyla, Digg's wife," each person nodded their greeting at their spoken name. But Diggle and Lyla simultaneously spoke, "She's not my wife" and "I'm not his wife," causing Cisco to let out an embarrassed laugh.

"So what are you guys? Team Arrow?" Ray asked, looking over the group.

"Not exactly," the girl named Caitlin said. She offered him a kind smile which made him feel slightly more at ease.

"More like Team Felicity for now," Barry added. Ray briefly wondered if S.T.A.R. Labs recruited right out of high school these days, but filed his curiosity away for later.

"All right, now that introductions are done, let's start with what we know," Lyla-_not-_Diggle's-wife said, bringing the unofficial Team Felicity meeting to order. She spoke with a confidence and an air of authority that Ray immediately recognized as military. "According to Oliver, Felicity was last seen here on Friday night. She left at 11:34 PM; her tracker placed her in her apartment at 12:01 Saturday morning. It remained active until 6:19 AM. She was still in her apartment at the time the signal went dead," she pulled up the tracking software on the large touch screen panel as she spoke, indicating the signals last whereabouts.

"So what does that mean? The signal going dead?" Barry asked worriedly. Ray hadn't liked the sound of "dead" either.

"Could mean a lot of things," Diggle answered. "But for now we're operating under the assumption that it was found and deactivated."

"Where was the tracker?" Ray asked, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't embedded under her skin.

"In the industrial bar earring she wore," Diggle once again supplied his answer.

"And she knew it was there?"

"Yes," Oliver spoke for the first time since he'd asked him for help at Palmer Technologies. "I gave it to her the week she started helping us. I needed to have safeguards in place." His voice was detached, emotionless, but Ray could plainly hear the words he wasn't speaking: _I needed to have her safe._

"We spoke to the doorman at her building. He confirmed that he did see Felicity enter the building just before midnight, but never saw her leave. Neither did the guy on the next shift," Roy told the group.

"SCPD reported that all traffic cams around the apartment building went black Saturday morning and weren't operational again until after 1:00 PM," Laurel Lance said. The young and career-driven lawyer working for Starling City's District Attorney's office, daughter of SCPD's Captain Lance, and fighting alongside the vigilante at night? Ray had a hard time picturing this champion of justice taking law into her own hands, but still, stranger things had happened.

"What about the surrounding businesses, any footage we could check out?" Cisco asked.

Laurel was already shaking her head. "All cameras conveniently malfunctioned at that same time."

"Whoever did this was very skilled, and _very_ thorough," Caitlin said, bringing up the lack of search results Felicity's name garnered. "But though her financial records and statements were erased, it did get me wondering about the funds she had in her account. They had to have gone somewhere. So I did some digging, and sure enough, a savings account belonging to Ms. Donna Smoak received an untraceable wire deposit in the amount of $63,000."

"Untraceable because the account of origin was closed?" Laurel asked.

"Because, based solely off of bank records, the account of origin never existed."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ray interjected while stepping closer to examine the numbers on the screen. "Ms. Smoak called me yesterday. She was worried sick because she hadn't heard from Felicity either."

"And she didn't mention the money?" Diggle asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.

"No. But I guess it's entirely possible that she didn't know at that point. Donna doesn't seem the type to balance her checkbook regularly, if you know what I mean. Felicity had been giving her money for years."

"Am I the only one bothered by this?" Roy's eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. "What kind of kidnapper takes time to make sure his victim's mother gets all her money?"

Silence filled the basement as the group pondered this. There was a thought there though, a thought Ray did not want to voice aloud because it was absurd. There was just no way Felicity would…

"Okay, since I'm the one with the most experience getting my head taken off down here, I guess I'll be the one to ask the obvious question," Laurel announced. Her eyes briefly met everyone's in the group. "How do we know Felicity was even taken?"

To Ray's surprise, no one seemed overly shocked by the question. It seemed that everyone had been thinking along the same lines. Everyone except Queen. Diggle spoke first though, as if wanting to avoid a confrontation. "Laurel-"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I don't want to believe it either Digg, but we need to look at the facts. Felicity is the only person we know with the hacking capabilities to pull something like this off. She's the only person who'd want her mother to be the beneficiary of her accounts. I'm not saying we should rule out any other theories here, just that we need to keep one thought in mind: What if Felicity doesn't want to be found?"

"I hate to say it, Johnny, but it's a valid question," Lyla said, watching Diggle's reaction carefully.

"But why? Felicity wouldn't just leave… would she?" An edge of doubt crept into the end of Caitlin's question.

"Unless it just got to be too much," Barry mused, glancing so quickly over to Queen that Ray thought maybe he'd imagined it.

"Enough," Oliver's low voice silenced any other comments on possible motives. "Felicity did not, _would_ not, just leave. She knows I'd always find her anyway. So if anyone else wants to waste time discussing what possible reason she'd have for leaving, do it outside of my foundry. Because there's a million and a half reasons as to why she could have left, but that doesn't change the fact that she wouldn't."

Queen locked eyes with Laurel as if to dare her to say anything more on the matter. The rest of them shifted uncomfortably in the tension filled moments where only the sounds of the computer buzz could be heard. But Ray realized something then, that whatever differences he and Queen may have, he did not doubt him on this. He knew then that Oliver Queen, not the Arrow, would not rest until she was found.

Because it was Oliver Queen who loved Felicity Smoak.

Ray didn't know how he missed it before then. It was blatantly obvious to him now; the big, fat elephant right there in the Arrow's hideout. Did the others know? Did Felicity? Or even Oliver for that matter? All questions that could be answered later he decided; and just like that, his mind was made up.

He moved to stand next to the metal table in the middle of the group and rested his hands on its surface, his resolve firmly rooting. "So where do we go from here?"


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **I've corrected a couple of MAJOR blunders in the previous chapters thanks to guest reviews pointing out that I had gotten Mama Smoak's name wrong. I write everything by hand (I'm old fashioned like that =P ), _hoping_ to catch and fix major flaws as I'm typing it out. In my haste, that BIG one got missed. My apologies, and special thanks to the readers that brought it to my attention. :)

Thank you for all your continued support. Heeeeeere's Johnny again =P Happy reading Arrow fans! XOXO

* * *

"Talk to me, Diggle," Oliver's voice ordered through the coms. The sound of his motorcycle echoed over John's earpiece. He cursed loudly while clumsily punching at keys in front of him. "Okay, okay, okay," he muttered when the detailed street map he needed appeared on the screen before him.

"He's crossed over to Fifth. If you take the next right on Holcolm you should be able to cut him off at the intersection," he typed in a few more commands and the street camera view was brought up. "The sidewalk! Use the sidewalk, Oliver. It's a construction zone."

"Noticed that," Oliver deadpanned. On the screen, John watched as he dodged several pedestrians out for a nightly stroll. Switching camera views, he found the gangbanger approaching the intersection. "Here he comes," John said, and watched as Oliver's Ducati shot out right in front of the other motorcycle, causing its driver to swerve and over-correct. Sparks lined the street as metal scraped across the concrete, coming to rest not fifteen feet from where Oliver was stepping into view, arrow at the ready.

"Call it in, Diggle," he spoke calmly, and John let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Roy, what's your status?"

"Cops are slapping cuffs on our buddy as we speak. Heading back to the foundry. _On foot,_" John flinched at his inflected irritation.

"We'll go pick up the bike later. It's hidden?"

"Yeah, it won't be found."

"All right, heading your way Digg."

After a brief acknowledgement John silenced the coms and removed his earpiece. He ran his hands over his face as the stress of the night slowly lifted off of him. He'd always known Felicity didn't have it easy, staying behind the scenes as she relayed the information that could mean death or life to them, but he never truly appreciated it until now. Now when the pressure of the mission weighed on him like a ton of bricks each time Roy and Oliver went out, completely relying on his ability to stay one step ahead of those they went after.

It must have been an incredible burden – staying behind, feeling that pressure, knowing that without her the mission would fall apart. Whether Team Arrow fell apart in her absence still remained to be seen.

Sighing heavily, he dialed the police department and tipped them off to where the Arrow had left their suspect. Now all that remained was to wait for the others' return. A wait that he'd never get used to for as long as he lived.

* * *

Oliver returned to the foundry 20 minutes later; Roy followed another ten after that.

"Well that was interesting," he announced while removing his Arsenal suit. "Felicity never drove me into a bus before, but hey, there's a first time for everything."

"I'm sorry, kid," John said, recalling Roy's shouts over the coms. "I was trying to do ten different things at once, I-"

"Don't worry about it," Roy shook it off with a clap on John's shoulder. "Nobody could match Felicity's skills. You're doing fine though."

Oliver's back was to them as he slowly removed his Arrow gear. The way he held himself, John could plainly discern just how exhausted he was. He was about to comment on it, but Oliver spoke first.

"Well they won't be robbing any more banks any time soon. All in all, we can count it as a win. You can both head out. That's enough Arrow business for tonight," he said and excused himself to the makeshift locker room next to their sparring mat.

John and Roy exchanged looks. He nodded and the kid resumed his dress down as John went to the computers to pull up the screens he knew Oliver would want to see. A few minutes later Roy headed out, throwing a "later" over his shoulder.

When Oliver exited the locker room, hair still wet from his shower, he went straight to the computer screens to check on the scans. John was leaning against the metal table behind him, watching with arms crossed as Oliver gingerly rolled Felicity's chair to the side so that he could get a closer look. Oliver hadn't sat in that chair once since her disappearance, John realized and a wave of sadness rolled over him.

"It's been over two weeks," the weight of his words settled heavily in John's stomach. He couldn't respond; there was no way to respond.

"Two weeks, and we still have nothing," Oliver continued, still staring at the screens. "Barry has covered nearly every surface and Starling and Central cities. Nothing has showed up on the scans. No A.R.G.U.S chatter. Lance has no leads. Nothing. _NOTHING!" _He hurled an object into the wall to their left, the sound of it shattering echoed with his outburst throughout the basement. John looked over and saw his cell phone in a million pieces; still he said nothing.

Breathing heavily, Oliver collapsed into a nearby chair and rested his elbows on his knees. John was immediately reminded of the moment not so long ago when Oliver sat just like he is now and told him that he didn't want to die down here. _So don't, _he'd told him, the answer being that simple and obvious at the time.

He wished more than anything that he could offer him the same straightforward answer now. But the universe wasn't being kind; his friend needed a reason to live. With Felicity missing, John worried that the last pieces of his humanity were at stake.

"He bought a _satellite_?" John smiled despite himself at Oliver's question, noting the way he sounded both irritated and impressed at the same time.

"Yep. And I had to listen to him go on about it for an hour as he listed not just all it could do, but all he was _adding_ to it. Something about biometric scanning and ground-breaking software and yada yada yada. To be honest, I didn't understand a word of it, only that it was going to usher in a "new age of surveillance,'" he informed him, adding air quotes at the end.

"Wow," was all Oliver replied.

"That's what I said. Anyway, Ray says once his people are finished with the software updates on it, should be operational within a couple of days. It's already caught Waller's attention. Lyla thinks A.R.G.U.S. will eventually commandeer the tech."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Oliver admitted. "Just as long as it does what we need before then."

"When's the last time you slept?" John asked, already anticipating his reply.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Oliver. You're not a robot; you need to sleep just like the rest of us. The searches won't stop if you walk away for a few hours."

Oliver sighed and dropped his head, linking his fingers behind his neck. "Something Lance said keeps bothering me. 'Other than Felicity, who would even know how to do something like this?' I know what the others think, Digg. I'm not…ignoring the facts. I need to know…" he lifted his head and fixed his eyes on John. "Do you agree with them? Do you think that Felicity," the name seemed to get caught in his throat. He swallowed once before continuing. "That she wanted to disappear?"

John could see it in his eyes, how desperately he wanted his honest opinion. He'd be lying if he said that the same doubt hadn't crept into his own thinking. He had mulled it over several times after that first night when the details of her bank records came to light. But every time he thought it over, his heart came to the same conclusion despite the opposing logic of his brain. "No."

Oliver released a long breath of air at the word. He focused his stare on the floor in front of him. "She said she wasn't going to wait around and watch me die," he informed him, as if that might change his answer.

"Oliver, I've been watching you two for a long time. The others, well, they're relatively new to this so their logic and opinions, no matter how _informed_ they may be, don't hold a lot of weight with me.

"You and me – we _know_ Felicity. Palmer can talk all day about how we only saw one side of her, but you know better than that. That girl is loyal to a fault, she couldn't have walked away from what we do here even if she wanted to, and maybe she did want to. More lately than ever. But she would never willingly leave without the full belief that we'd find her. You weren't wrong about that, Oliver."

Oliver just nodded, seeming satisfied with John's answer. For now.

John knew his friend, knew that the doubt and guilt and worry would not leave him until Felicity was found and brought safely home. He just hoped for Oliver's sake, for all their sakes, that would happen sooner rather than later.

"Get some rest," he ordered, for whatever it was worth, and left Oliver alone with his thoughts.

* * *

John arrived at Verdant the next day to find an unfamiliar car parked in the otherwise vacant lot. He would have normally entered through the alley, but curiosity got the better of him and he parked his own vehicle next to the sedan. A sticker on the car showed that it was a rental. He got out and slowly walked around to stand at the driver side door; a sleeping form reclined in the driver's seat, a mess of blonde hair splayed out around her. He rapped on the window twice, causing her to jump awake.

Donna Smoak blinked several times before becoming aware of her surroundings. Seeing John outside her window, she hurriedly grabbed her keys and joined him in the parking lot. "Ms. Smoak," he greeted her, extending his hand.

She accepted his outstretched hand and enclosed it with her other hand, squeezing almost painfully. He saw desperation in her pleading eyes, smeared with what he assumed was yesterday's mascara and dried up tears. "Mr. Diggle. We need to talk."

* * *

Donna sat on the large staircase inside the empty night club wiping furiously at the makeup around her eyes. John approached with a cup of black coffee and took a seat next to her, offering her the steaming liquid.

"Thank you," she said, smiling nervously. "I'm quite the mess, aren't I?"

"You're fine."

"I didn't know how else to find you. I remembered meeting you here, but it was just past 3 when I arrived, so I decided to wait."

"What can I do for you, Ms. Smoak?" he asked dejectedly, knowing he probably wouldn't be able to provide the answers she sought.

"Please, call me Donna."

"All right then Donna."

"I need information, something, anything!" Used to speaking with her hands, Donna sent some of the coffee spilling at their feet. She set the cup down to continue. "After they questioned me about the money, all I got was 'the investigation is ongoing.' Ray can't tell me anything other than he's broadening the scope of his search, whatever that means. It just doesn't make any sense, John! In this day and age, how can anyone just be lost?"

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away immediately. John placed a comforting hand on her back. "Where's my baby girl, John?"

"I don't know," he was forced to admit, feeling tears of his own clog his throat. "I wish I could give you more, but I can't. I can tell you we've got quite the team of experts on it though. Someone went to great pains to make sure that no traceable connection to Felicity could be found, leading us to believe that she is out there, somewhere. She is alive. That much I can give you."

She cried for several minutes, resting her head on her knees while painful sobs shook her shoulders. John stayed with his hand on her back, knowing that all the kind gestures in the world couldn't offer her the comfort she needed at the moment.

"I can't believe this is happening again," she finally whispered, drawing in a shaky breath. "It's like my worst nightmare coming true."

"What do you mean?"

"Felicity's father left when she was very young. I had no warning, no hints that it was coming, no goodbye. One second we were happy, and the next…he was gone," bitterness crept into her voice, but John watched as she visibly shook it off and continued on.

"We made it though. We survived without him. Yet, somehow, Felicity still grew up to be her father's daughter anyway. Brilliant. Passionate. Determined. I lived in constant fear that she'd wake up one day and realize that she didn't need me, just like he had. But Felicity, well, she had a kindness about her that he never did. It was that sweet spirit of hers, not his money, that kept me going in those rough years after he'd gone. She kept me sane," Donna smiled through her tears, a mother's love shining through her eyes.

But John had stilled, Donna's story putting his mind on alert. "What did you mean by 'not his money?'"

"He left me a bank account full of cash, as if that somehow made up for him abandoning his wife and 5 year old," she replied, laughing bitterly.

John stood up and paced a few steps away, trying to determine the odds of something like that just being a coincidence. He turned back to face Donna, who still sat watching him. "What did your husband do for a living?"

"What?" she asked, confused. "I don't know. Some kind of IT specialist for a software company. But he quit working there when he left. I checked."

"What's his name?"

"Alan Smoak. Why? John, why are you suddenly so interested in my ex-husband?" she asked, standing up beside him.

Instead of answering immediately, John got out his phone and pressed the first speed dial. Lyla answered after the first ring. "I need you to find anything you can on Alan Smoak. Get the others on it; I want to meet as soon as possible." She didn't ask any questions, but immediately went to work. After a quick exchange of "I love yous," he hung up, knowing it would be priority one.

He focused on Donna once again. "Listen, this is important, Donna. I'm going to need you to tell me everything you can about Felicity's father."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **SO sorry for my delayed update! This chapter is a bit longer than the rest, so hopefully that'll make up for the wait. I was pleasantly surprised when I began writing a chapter in Laurel's POV; her character exceeded my expectations. I'm eager to find out what all of my wonderful readers think though!

But before you dive in, I have to put this out there. I did a fair amount of research for this chapter regarding the origins of the internet and certain government organizations. That being said, _no_ amount of research could help me better understand the field of computer science. I've tried my best here though. You may need to practice your "suspension of disbelief" when reading, but I know you guys can do it! After all, you do watch Arrow. ;-)

As always, thank you for your continued support of this story. All of the favorites, follows, and reviews make me oh-so-happy!

* * *

Laurel was in her office going over evidence from the bank robbery case she was sitting first chair on when she got the text from Lyla. _John has something. TF mtg. 3PM._ Laurel quickly typed out her response and hit send, hoping it was good news. Or any news, for that matter.

Satisfied with the case the DA had against the suspects, she began shutting down her computer. "Heading to lunch?" She looked up to see her father standing the in the doorway to her office. "I was hoping I'd catch you so we could grab a bite together."

"Sorry, Dad." She replied. "Something's come up. I've got to go meet someone."

"Is it about Ms. Smoak?" he guessed, taking the seat in front of her desk. "Is there news?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted.

He let out a disapproving grunt. "I've never seen anything like it in all my years – someone just disappearing like that. _He _should have known though, known that joining up with the likes of him made her a walking target. He should've protected her better. And now knowing that you and your sister have joined his crusade…" he broke off suddenly, unable to voice his fears out loud. Laurel swallowed back the emotion rising at the mention of her sister. Guilt washed over her. She knew that she had to tell him. He had to know that his youngest daughter was never coming home. But every time she worked up enough nerve to say the words out loud, she just couldn't. The confession dying on her lips.

"I know I don't need to worry about you. Or Sara," he continued. "I know you can take care of yourselves. But I'm your father and that's my right." Laurel smiled at the man before her. A good man. One of the few left in Starling. Not for the first time, she wished she could be the daughter he deserved.

"And seeing as how Felicity didn't have a father to worry after her, I guess I sort of adopted that right," he added. His eyebrows pulled together as he spotted the papers on her desk and moved in for a closer inspection. "This the bank robbery from the other night?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty cut and dry case. The Arrow handed them over with a pre-packaged guilty sentence. They'll be returning to Iron Heights soon enough."

"Guess Ms. Smoak's disappearance hasn't slowed him down any," he made no attempt to hide the judgment in his tone.

"He can't stop protecting the city, Dad," she defended.

"I know, I know. She just deserves better. He's not good enough for her."

Her father's words confused her. She'd always been aware of his over-protectiveness of those he cared about, but it sounded as if he assumed something more. "Are you suggesting that Felicity and the Arrow were in a relationship?"

"Sure," he replied, shrugging matter-of-factly. "I used to be a detective you know. Got pretty good at reading people."

"They just work together, Dad. They're partners."

"Call it whatever you want, Laurel. But I know what I saw. There's a reason he broke his no killing vow only once in the last two years, when he sent not one, but three arrows flying into a guy's chest. A guy who just so happened to be holding a needle to Felicity's throat. Think that's what you lawyers like to refer to as a crime of passion."

Laurel didn't know how to respond. Her father's suspicion somehow finally put words to the picture that had been formulating slowly in her mind. A picture she'd been subconsciously ignoring. She recalled being taken by Slade Wilson almost seven months ago when he'd vowed to kill the woman Oliver loved. She'd waited several hours before his goons showed up again, Felicity in tow.

"_What's going on?" Laurel asked, shifting on the damp concrete to sit up on her knees. Her wrists ached from being tied for so long, but the pain was forgotten when she caught sight of the blonde woman before her. Oliver's executive assistant, whom she'd met once before when she was updating Verdant's security system, looked a little worse for wear. A nasty gash was visible on her forehead. How did she end up involved in this, Laurel briefly wondered._

"_Laurel! Are you okay?" the girl asked, before Slade's goon shook her and demanded that she shut up._

_Slade Wilson himself appeared out of the shadows then, taking stock of the women before him. He offered Laurel what looked like an apologetic smile before squatting in front of her, eye level. "Seems I've made quite the error, Ms. Lance. All that time on the island Oliver carried such a torch for you. But I should have known then the flame couldn't be that strong considering his dalliances with Shado. And with Sara. He moved on then, just as he's moved on now," he said, standing to full height. Laurel looked up, willing her brain to keep up with what he was telling her._

"_To the girl with the glasses," he added turning to face the other girl. Her eyes widened in fear as he approached, but she was held in place by strong hands gripping her arms from behind. "Quite the error, indeed. And to think, I almost let Isabel kill you. She begged me, you know. There aren't many who could get passed that thick skin of hers, but you certainly did. In the end, I decided you weren't worth the effort." He laughed out loud causing both women to jump._

"_The great irony of it all – killing you would have removed my most valuable piece before the final play of the game!" He brought up a hand and trailed his fingers across the blonde's cheek; she turned her head, flinching in disgust at the contact. "What a terrible misfortune you have to be loved by Oliver Queen. What he loves, he destroys." Fury crept back into his voice as he turned his back to both of them. _

_Laurel momentarily disconnected from the scene playing out before her in order to process. So Oliver had fallen for the computer girl, his now executive assistant, whose name Laurel could not recall. Although she wasn't sure she'd ever known it to begin with. Oliver had fallen in love with someone else without Laurel noticing? Yet the psychopath trying to destroy the city _had_ noticed. How was that even possible? The sound of her own name interrupted her thoughts several seconds later._

"_Really Laurel, you should consider yourself lucky on that account. You are, however, already collateral damage in a war much bigger than you, I'm afraid." _

_Dread filled Laurel's stomach as his words registered with her. She was expendable; it wouldn't be long now. She watched with sickening fear as he casually strolled through the maze of pipes around them. She lost sight of him but heard his voice echo off of the metal surfaces surrounding them. _

"_You've been busy, kid." Pause. "And I pity them. But once again, you miss the point. I have the one you love. You're going to meet me where I say, otherwise I'm going to kill her." Another pause. Laurel brought her attention to the girl standing near her and watched as her expression changed to one she couldn't read. "You're done when I say you're done!" Slade's voice boomed; the girl closed her eyes at the outburst. "I was surprised. I thought you had a thing for stronger women, but now that I've met her, I can see the appeal."_

_Slade appeared before them again, holding his earpiece as he spoke his threats. "She is quite lovely. Your Felicity." _

_The girl – Felicity - struggled against the arms holding her when he turned back to face her, drawing his massive sword from its sheath. He gave the coordinates to their location and shut off the communicator. "Your boyfriend's on his way," he informed her with a satisfied smile plastered on his disturbingly handsome face._

"_Should I tie her up?" the man behind her asked. Felicity blanched, her hand moving to cover her front pocket before she relaxed it back to her side again. The movement was so quick Laurel was sure Slade hadn't noticed. "There's no need," he answered. "He'll be here soon enough. Besides, I don't think we'll get much trouble from this one."_

_He seemed to forget the two women as he examined his blade. Laurel cut her eyes over to Felicity who was watching her with an unreadable expression once again. She winked and offered an encouraging smile, leaving Laurel dumbfounded. Who was this woman?!_

* * *

"_Get them out of here!" Oliver ordered Sara, and the three women took off. Laurel followed closely behind Sara as she led them around the sharp turns and twisted pipes through the building, then finally out into the alley. Running off of pure adrenaline, Laurel wasn't even aware of her surroundings until they'd made it a block away._

_She halted abruptly, leaning over to rest her hands on the tops of her knees. "Stop!" she yelled and attempted to control her breathing._

_Sara and Felicity were soon back by her side. "Laurel, we have to keep moving," Sara said, eyes darting up and down the alleyway where they stood. _

"_Not until someone explains to me what the hell just happened," she countered, straightening up to full height._

"_We let Slade outthink Oliver," Felicity answered in between breaths._

"_Explain."_

"_Slade said before all of this was over, one more person had to die: the woman Oliver loves. So whenever he took you, Oliver knew that he only had one chance of stopping him."_

"_The mirakuru cure," Sara supplied. _

"_Which he secretly handed over after he took me to the Queen mansion and told me that Slade had taken the wrong woman." _

_Laurel blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of this talk of cures and revenge, while ignoring the irrational hurt that was swelling up inside of her. _

"_The place was bugged?" Sara guessed. _

"_Oliver must have found 'em sometime after the funeral. I caught on when he put the syringe in my hand and told me I needed to stay there, away from the fighting, away from Slade, until it was over," she spoke this all as if it had been no big deal. Laurel was no longer hurt, but angry._

"_He used you as bait!?"_

"_No! I mean yes. I mean I wanted Oliver to use me. In a good way! Meaning it was consensual. That's not what I mean either. I'm just going to shut up now." Felicity closed her eyes and shook her head spastically as she said this. Laurel gaped at her before turning to her sister for some sort of help. Sara just grinned at Felicity endearingly. _

"_Isn't she the cutest?" she asked Laurel before giving Felicity a comforting squeeze on her shoulder. "You two must've been pretty convincing in order to trick Slade into believing you loved each other." Laurel heard the tease in her voice._

"_It wasn't that hard. For me, I mean. I took theatre in high school. Although they never really prepared me for how to appropriately react to a love confession from your vigilante boss who's trying to take down a roided out super villain hell-bent on killing everyone. Not even my wildest fantasies could've prepared me for _that_. Not that I fantasized about Oliver telling me that he loves me! I'm just saying, there wasn't much experience to draw from-"_

"_She'll just keep going like this if we let her," Sara finally interrupted, cutting Felicity off mid-ramble. She took a deep breath and smiled at her in thanks. "Let's get back to the others."_

_Sometime later they received word that Oliver had successfully taken down Slade, the bombs had been called off (a threat Laurel hadn't even been aware of at the time, but was thankful to hear it'd been avoided), and the city was secure. She stood in silence in the basement of Verdant where Sara had left them, surveying the wreckage around her. It was the secret base of operations for the Arrow and she was mesmerized by the sheer magnitude of Oliver's mission, the quest he'd kept hidden from her. All of the work he must've put into it, not to mention the effort it must have taken to keep it from the people in his life. It was all too much to consider at that point. _

_Felicity was busily working on what was left of the computers, attempting to salvage what she could of the equipment. _

"_This is amazing," Laurel eventually whispered, breaking the silence they'd been in since Sara's departure. _

"_It _was_ amazing," Felicity corrected. "Now it's just a warzone. It's going to take weeks to put this all back into some semblance of order." Laurel was struck with the need to say something to her, to thank the girl with the glasses in some way for selflessly putting her life on the line. Before she could speak though, the door above them opened and Oliver flew down the stairs, metal clanging with each of his steps. Laurel and Felicity simultaneously turned at the sound._

"_Are you both okay?" he asked, eyes roaming over each of them. He stood before them with his hood down, otherwise decked out head to toe in his Arrow garb, the very same suit she'd stood in front of dozens of times completely unaware of whom wore it. Overwhelmed with emotion Laurel threw her arms around him instead of answering his question. Tears fell down her cheeks as she nodded her answer._

"_All good over here, too," Felicity said cheerily behind them. "More than I can say for my computers though." Laurel gave Oliver one final squeeze before stepping back to examine him closer. The mask couldn't hide the weariness in his eyes. Felicity stood and approached them, lightly placing her hand on Oliver's arm. He took in a shaky breath, eyes searching hers, but Felicity simply smiled at him then at Laurel before stepping around them. "I'll give you two a minute."_

_Oliver's head dropped, seeming to stare at the place her hand had been until the sound of the door closing brought him back to the present. "I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this, Laurel." _

"_Hey, Ollie, it's okay. It doesn't matter," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand. "It's over now. You won."_

"_Not before he almost succeeded in taking everything from me," his voice was hoarse, lined with the full breadth of all that he'd lost._

"_But you beat him at his own game. That was quite the risk, by the way, but it paid off."_

"_To fight the unthinkable you have to be willing to do the unthinkable," he responded, eyes shut as if reciting the lines from memory._

"_She must have a lot of faith in you. Offering herself up like that to take him down, to save me, to save the entire city." Laurel recalled the wink she'd given her and let out a short laugh. "She's remarkable."_

"_You have no idea," Oliver smiled, but the sadness remained in his eyes. "It was _my_ faith in _her _though; I knew she could do it. I also knew Slade would underestimate her, not see her as a threat," he said, letting out his own sound of amusement. As if underestimating her was a very laughable idea. He turned to place his bow on the table beside him, his shoulders relaxing as if finally releasing the heaviest of loads. "I guess we have a lot to catch up on," he added. _

_Understatement of the year, Laurel thought._

* * *

The memories of that night unfolded in Laurel's mind as she left her father in her office, promising to let him know if she learned anything about Felicity, and made her way to the Glades. The elaborate ruse had been explained as just that, a ruse necessary to take the demented serial killer down. But going over it again, with her father's suspicions fresh on her mind, Laurel wasn't so sure that she hadn't been the one to be fooled.

She walked down the stairs and into the foundry, surprised to find most of the group had already gathered. Lyla, Diggle, Roy, Barry, and Caitlin all looked up from their respective positions around the floor as she approached. She checked her watch; it wasn't even 2 yet.

"You're not late," Lyla informed her.

"We're just all early," Barry said. Laurel sat her bag down on the floor and looked around the basement again. "Where's Oliver?" she asked.

"I guess he's the only one taking the set time seriously," Roy answered. Laurel moved to examine the screens and files they had all laid out. "What do we got?" she asked, picking up one of the file folders. A picture was attached the cover flap by a paper clip. It was of a man, judging from his hair and clothes and thick-rimmed long out of style glasses, she assumed the picture had to have been over 30 years old. The man was smiling, holding up some kind of certificate in one hand and a thumbs up in the other; he wore a graduation cap, a mess of brown, curly hair poking out underneath.

"Meet Alan Smoak, MIT graduating class of 1980. He was 19 when this was taken," Diggle answered while looking over her shoulder.

"Smoak?"

"That's right. Felicity's father. Dad of the year here abandoned his daughter the day before her fifth birthday, also walking away from his job at Soledad Software Company. But not before depositing a large amount into his wife's savings account."

Laurel's eyes met Diggle's. "That certainly sounds familiar."

"Yeah. We've got nothing on him beyond 1995."

"What about this company?" Laurel flipped over the pages in the file folder. "This Soledad Software Company. Anyone there we can talk to?"

"That would be nice," Caitlin answered. "But turns out it's just a dummy corporation."

"For what?"

Lyla turned in her chair, bringing Laurel's attention to the computer screen. An identification badge had been brought up; the same face of Alan Smoak, though slightly older, pictured in the center. "The NSA."

* * *

Over the next 45 minutes Laurel poured over all the information they'd gathered on Alan Smoak. Because most of his life's work was directly involved in government projects, a simple Google search of his name had brought up very little. It wasn't until Cisco arrived and managed to infiltrate several secure servers that they were able to paint a broader picture Felicity's father.

Alan was the only son of Kirk and Matilda Smoak, both professors at Columbia University; he of Mathematics, and she of English Literature. The family's primary place of residence was located in Lyndhurst, New Jersey, but Alan attended Trinity School on New York City's upper west side. Trinity, a private Ivy League prep school, is better known for grooming the nation's elite from the ripe age of five. It was there that Alan excelled in Mathematics and discovered his passion for Computer Science, though offerings of such studies were still relatively small in those days.

He graduated from Trinity at 17 and received a full scholarship to the Manhattan Institute of Technology, where he was finally able to focus completely on his declared major of Computer Science.

Laurel was just going over the history of his first employment when Oliver joined them. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and clothes in disarray as if he'd just rolled out of bed and sped over here. She thought she'd be angry at him for keeping his feelings from her, for assuming that she couldn't handle the truth. But now, seeing him like this, she only felt deep sorrow. Whatever difficult past they may share, she would always care about him.

And right now, the only way to show that care was to help him find Felicity.

She stood and approached him, handing over the closed manila folder. "You ready to be brought up to speed?" she asked. He accepted the folder, glancing around at the others, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How long have you all been here?"

"A while," Digg answered. "Why don't you take a seat while we fill you in on what we know."

Oliver complied, sinking to the stool nearest him and opening the folder. His eyes fixed on the photograph, no doubt seeing the resemblance between the man pictured and his own resident MIT grad. Laurel was the one to start the debrief.

"Alan Smoak. Pioneer in the field of Computer Science, developing algorithms and writing other codes that essentially made the internet what it is today. A lot of those algorithms he produced while still a student at MIT. His research put him years ahead of the others in his field, and it was a technique that he published as a sophomore that enabled computers to interface with other operating systems, broadening the potential scope of networking astronomically.

"His final year at MIT, he published a paper entitled "Entanglements of a Global Web" in which he broke down the research and data coming from the folks working on computer networking. Cisco was able to obtain a copy, despite its being classified shortly after," Laurel informed him, placing the 102 page manuscript on the table beside him.

"It's insane!" Cisco exclaimed. "Totally brilliant. This guy was so far ahead of his time. He predicted the Y2K scare _and_ a solution to it 20 years before it happened."

"That's not all he predicted," Digg added seriously. "Granted I only got a third of the way through and didn't understand most of it, but from that I gathered that the internet back then was basically just a handful of networks being used by the government and scholars for data and research sharing. Smoak states here that it wasn't going to stay that way. That it'll eventually be used universally, available at everyone's fingertips, and that once released, no one would be able to shut Pandora's box. That these "networks" will become a way of life, relied upon, and completely uncontrollable."

Munching on a candy bar, Barry flipped through his copy of the paper in blinding speed, finishing it for the fifth time on Laurel's count. "He lays everything out. The possibilities for cyber terrorism. Corporate espionage. Career hacking. Government corruption. The potential pitfalls of a society completely dependent on the internet. It's amazing! He foresaw the world we live in today."

"And the security risks," said Lyla. "Smoak describes a world in which battles are waged on the cyber front. He identified the weaknesses the current networks had and offers solutions to the problems. But he ends with the claim that no matter how secure the network may seem, the world will eventually be at the mercy of whomever possesses the smartest computer."

"That's a pretty bold claim," Oliver replied, eyes still scanning the documents in the folder.

"DARPA thought so too. Which is probably why they decided to recruit him directly out of MIT," Laurel commented, still going over the agency's file on him.

"DARPA?" Roy asked, having decided to not do any of the reading himself. He'd told Laurel he was just going to wait and get it all when they briefed Oliver.

"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," Cisco supplied a little too enthusiastically. "Most of my all-time biggest heroes got their start at DARPA. It's basically every engineer's dream, getting paid to build and test technology that the rest of the world still considers science fiction!"

Roy stared at Cisco expressionless for a couple of beats before narrowing his eyes at him. "_Really?_ That's who you fangirl over?"

"That, and any of the cast members of _Firefly," _Caitlin quipped over her shoulder.

"Never heard of it," Roy said. Cisco's mouth fell open in shock. He looked like he was about to reply, but Laurel stopped him with a pat on his arm. "Let's stay focused, all right boys?" Despite herself, she smiled at the kicked puppy dog look on his face. She had immediately liked Cisco. Barry and Caitlin, too. The team from Central City had a different sort of quality about them. Even though she knew they'd faced plenty of adversity as well, the three of them still possessed a childlike curiosity and sense of innocence. A lightness of heart that reminded Laurel of Felicity. When they weren't there, a collective solemnness descended over the Foundry, the absence of Felicity never more keenly felt.

Laurel and the others went on to tell Oliver how Alan had remained at DARPA for several years, working with a team of engineers and mathematicians to fix the inherent "worms," as they called them, that had come with the advent of the internet. During his time there, the concept of Email came to fruition, though it was unclear whether he had direct involvement in that or not. Regardless, he excelled at DARPA, receiving high praise from his peers and supervisors.

In 1984, however, he left DARPA to be contracted out by the fictional Soledad Software Company, receiving a significant increase in pay. "They must have considered him a valuable enough asset at that point and wanted to keep his work classified," Lyla explained as a likely reason for the NSA's cloak and dagger. "As it happens, we have no idea the nature of his work there. He didn't publish any papers in that time, nor was his name attached to any R&amp;D projects. My contact at the NSA was hesitant to give me anything."

Oliver's head shot up then, a sign of life behind his eyes for the first time in days. "Hesitant?"

"She was persuaded," Lyla answered, dropping her eyes to the floor. Laurel briefly wondered just how A.R.G.U.S. practiced the art of persuasion. "I got a name. A retired agent who worked closely with Smoak until his…departure. He lives in Lancaster."

Laurel's own interest peaked at the news. Maybe their luck was changing, for the first time in almost 3 weeks they had a solid lead. "I can tell my dad. We'll bring him in for questioning," but Lyla was already shaking her head. "Won't do," she said.

"This guy's ex-NSA. Their secrets have secrets," Diggle corroborated.

"All he has to do is claim national security. He won't give the police any answers," Lyla added. Laurel caught the specificity in her words.

"Then I guess I'll just have to do the questioning in an unofficial capacity," she stated, eyeing her garment bag on the floor. Her implication was clear, and she braced herself for the argument Oliver was sure to give her. But he surprised her by remaining silent for several moments, leaving Laurel's offer hanging in the air.

Finally he stood and nodded her way. "Suit up. We're going to Lancaster."

* * *

They arrived in Lancaster shortly after 9:00 PM. Barry had offered to give them a lift, but Oliver turned him down. He knew the Flash had important business to attend to in Central City, and it was better that they wait until nightfall anyway. Laurel had a sneaking suspicion that he also couldn't stomach the thought of young Barry Allen giving him a piggy back ride across the state, but he'd never admit it.

She and Oliver hid in the shadows behind the home of Bob Schaeffer and watched as he and his wife busied themselves with their nightly rituals. The short, hefty man eventually came to rest in the living room, plopping down on the couch to watch TV while his wife put away the remnants of their evening meal. Laurel's stomach had growled loudly at the sight of Mrs. Schaeffer's beef stroganoff, reminding her that she'd skipped lunch and dinner, and eliciting a sharp look from Oliver. She'd simply glared back, her expression daring him to comment on it. He wisely ignored the challenge and went back to watching their target.

They'd initially planned on using a piece of equipment Palmer had lent them that was meant to disable "even the best security systems." Oliver had been doubtful, but accepted it anyway. As it turned out though, they wouldn't be needing it. Twelve minutes after Mrs. Schaeffer turned out the lights in their upstairs bedroom, Bob went into the kitchen to retrieve the trash from the receptacle. Oliver looked to Laurel, then over to the trash cans resting by the detached storage shed in the back yard, and back at Laurel again. "Time to improvise," he warned her, darting over to hide behind the shed.

Laurel followed and waited while Bod walked out of the back door and across the yard. He deposited the trash and had just replaced the lid when Oliver shot out of his hiding place. One hand immediately went to cover his mouth, muffling the shouts he let out, while the other locked the man's arms behind his back. Laurel was already moving to open the door to the shed and quickly moved out of the way to let Oliver shove the man inside.

She closed the door behind them and spotted a rag resting atop a pile of tools to her left. She grabbed it as Oliver kicked the man's knees from behind, dead-legging him on to the concrete. Laurel shoved the dirty rag into his mouth while Oliver pulled the zip tie from his pocket and secured the man's hands behind his back.

Moonlight spilled in through the only window of the shed, illuminating the stark fear in Bob's eyes. His chest rose and fell in heavy succession when Laurel and Oliver moved to stand in front of him. She glanced at Oliver to see his head dip slightly and she took that as the go-ahead to take point on this one.

"Mr. Schaeffer," she began, bending her knees to gain eye contact with him. "We're here for answers. In order to get those answers, I'm going to have to remove that rag. It'd be a shame if you made me regret it though; I'd hate to wake your wife at this hour." Tears welled up in his eyes as he nodded furiously up and down. For a second, Laurel felt guilty for threatening his wife…but only for a second. She took the gag out of his mouth and resumed her position next to Oliver.

"You're the Arrow," Bob let out, shock and awe mixing in his voice. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"I need you to tell me about Alan Smoak," Laurel demanded.

He tore his eyes off of Oliver to look at her. The name had obviously surprised him. "Alan Smoak? I haven't heard that name in 20 years."

Bob paused to moisten his dry lips. He closed his eyes to take in several shaky breaths, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Alan Smoak. MIT alumn. Got his start at DARPA. He and I, we worked together. In the late 80s-"

"Those are facts I am well aware of, Bob. Tell me about him. About the man you worked with," Laurel cut him off, her tone signifying her fleeting patience.

"All right. Okay," he muttered, voice quivering. Sweat dripped down from the thinning hair on his head. "The greatest mind the world would never know. That's what we used to say about Alan. The man who came out of DARPA was brilliant. Driven. He had revolutionized the field of computer science over there. When he joined us, he single-handedly made our network security system what it is today, despite it being dubbed a 'team effort.' There wasn't a problem he couldn't tackle. They used him everywhere from technical engineering to software design. The new internet promised an infinite number of applications, but Alan resolved to learn every single one of them.

"That man – the one thirsty for knowledge, _passionately_ curious – would not have abandoned his work. Or his wife and child, for that matter. Cute little thing, wild brown hair, just like her father's. He once told me that she held the key to the future," he recalled wistfully. Laurel stole a glance at Oliver and saw the muscle in his jaw flex at the words. "But he was a different man by then. His work never let up, but I saw that his thirst, his passion, had turned into a burden by the time he left."

"What changed?" Laurel asked.

"The world," Schaeffer answered solemnly. "That's what he told me, at least. He said the world had changed and there was no going back."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"1986. Smoak was working on a new program for counter intelligence when he discovered a way to infiltrate an entirely separate network."

"Hacking, you mean."

Bob laughed. "This was way before that word was being thrown around. Back then the idea was unheard of. But he did it. He managed to intercept a communication from the Libyan military linking them to the recent attack on Berlin. Because of that intelligence, Reagan responded in kind. Ordering the bombing on a Libyan base. 42 people died that day, including 2 American airmen whose plane was shot down. Alan was never the same after that."

Bob's eyes rested on the wall behind them, a far off look changed his expression as he seemed to recall ghosts from his own haunted past. "One night after work we went out for drinks. After a few he told me that the future had arrived earlier than he imagined. And that he'd become the monster he warned them about. I didn't know what he meant, he didn't elaborate. But two weeks after that, he was gone."

Laurel briefly pondered his story, a half-finished picture of Alan Smoak forming. "And you have no idea where he went?"

"They only told us that he'd accepted a position elsewhere, but to abandon his family like that…" he broke off, looking around the shed as if suddenly worried he was divulging too much. He lowered his voice to continue. "There were rumors floating around. About a top secret installation that the government had _unofficially_ sanctioned. He wasn't the first guy to just pack up and leave, and he wasn't the last either. I got the feeling that when those people offered you a job, there really wasn't a choice in the matter. That was the talk around the water cooler at any rate."

Beside her, Oliver seemed to stop breathing. Laurel knew exactly what he was thinking. And though she had little to no experience with the group other than her interactions with Lyla, that was not the case with Oliver. She wasn't aware of the extent of their history, but something had made him distrustful of the organization. He'd be out for blood.

"Return to your wife," he ordered, voice modulator causing Schaeffer to nearly jump out of his skin. Laurel reached forward and severed the tie around his wrists. "If you value this retirement life you've built at all, you'll speak of this to no one."

Schaeffer stood, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly. He faced Oliver with a curious expression. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Oliver bellowed, making the man (and Laurel) take half a step back.

"Yes, yes! I understand," he agreed. He seemed dissatisfied though, casting them one last peculiar look, as if knowing this was a puzzle he'd never solve, a story that would remain forever incomplete, before taking off across the lawn.

Oliver and Laurel wasted no time in leaving either, running to where they had stashed the borrowed motorcycle earlier. She said nothing as she climbed on the bike, positioning herself behind him. There would be plenty to say once they reached the tarmac.

Palmer's Cessna waited for them at the private airfield, fueled and ready to go, just as promised. Ray, as an apology for missing the Team Felicity meeting, had offered up his personal private jet to fly them to Lancaster. Oliver had begrudgingly accepted, preferring that mode of transport (no matter his opinions of Ray) to Barry's back.

They left the bike in the hangar and made their way to the plane, Oliver signaling to the pilot before they boarded. Oliver closed and latched the door behind them before knocking twice on the door separating them from the cockpit. The engines started up almost immediately. Laurel took the seat furthest from the pilot and buckled herself in.

Oliver sat across from her, gaze fixed on the growing distance between them and the ground. She waited until the wheels came up before breaking the silence. "What are you thinking?"

"You already know what I'm thinking," he replied without looking away from the window.

"No, I don't. I'm not a mind reader. I don't know what you're thinking or feeling if you don't tell me," she told him angrily, referring to so much more than this moment. She sighed heavily. "Talk to me, Ollie."

"I should have known," he said with a shake of his head.

"We don't know for sure that it's A.R.G.U.S."

"No, but this sounds just like something they would do. People like Amanda Waller, who wouldn't think twice about ripping a man from his family to serve their purposes," he said, practically seething her name. When he focused on Laurel, the eyes behind his mask burned with such intense hatred that she had to stifle her startled reaction. As a lawyer, and now a vigilante, she'd seen that look many times before. It was the face of a mad man.

A mad man who had nothing left to lose.

"What are you going to do?" Laurel asked, scared to hear his answer.

When he did, his voice was calm. Too calm, Laurel thought. "Amanda Waller and I are going to have a chat. She's going to tell me where Alan Smoak is. And then I'm going to make sure she never destroys another life."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Hello lovely readers! I didn't get very much feedback on the previous chapter. I'm inclined to think that maybe a lot of you didn't enjoy Laurel's POV as much as the others. But the number of favorites/follows continues to grow, so who knows?! =P

To answer one guest reviewer who wanted to know why I chose Laurel for those scenes: I simply thought that she, as a lawyer, would be best suited to process and relay (to other characters, as well as to the readers) the extreme amount of information I needed to get across in that one chapter. She has experience with gathering information and reviewing evidence in order to cross-examine witnesses in court... which was very useful during the interrogation.

Anywaaaay, on to the next installment. This chapter is split between two points of view. Reviews are always appreciated; I'd love to hear what you guys are thinking!

* * *

"So this Billingsly Foundation is a front, too?" Roy asked, looking up from the scribbled name on the paper in front of him.

"That's what it looks like," Digg answered. "Unless they just decided to close up shop after handing out their one and only scholarship."

Roy and Digg stayed behind when the others called it a night, deciding to wait for Oliver's return from Lancaster. In order to pass the time, Roy had begun going over all the files and notes they'd gathered concerning Felicity's father. It was slow going, most of the computer jargon going right over his head, but he wanted to feel useful in some small way. Besides, Roy knew that Barbie would brave the roughest streets of Starling for him, so he could manage a few hours of reading for her. Reading being a task he considered equally as brave. And rough.

There was a reason he never fully embraced the whole academic thing. Not that he didn't consider himself smart, school just wasn't for him. He'd found his strengths elsewhere; namely, vigilantism. Going through the mounds of paperwork around the computers, he was reminded of just how easy the choice had been between school and the streets.

Even with all his growth and maturing in the last year, worldly wisdom had not changed one unshakable truth for Roy, and that was that homework suuuucked. Plain and simple.

He'd asked Digg dozens of questions as he came across different pieces of information that needed clarification. He was sure that he'd started getting on his nerves, but the older man continued answering anyway. Roy had just made it to Alan's school transcripts when a thought occurred to him.

"Kind of crazy that she'd follow in her absent father's footsteps, huh?"

"How do you mean?" Digg had asked, not bothering to look up from his cell phone.

"Going to MIT. The whole computer science thing." Digg's thumbs paused on his phone screen when he'd spoken and fixed Roy with a blank stare. "What? Dumb question?"

"No, I think you're on to something, kid."

Roy had then watched as Digg dialed a number from memory and asked several questions of the person who'd picked up on the other end. While still on the phone, he grabbed a nearby pen and wrote down the name before hanging up and planting himself in front of the computers. Several minutes later, Digg had pushed back from the desk, announcing that the scholarship foundation which had awarded Felicity with a full ride to MIT brought up no results.

Now the two sat across from one another pondering this new information. "But _WHY?_" Roy eventually asked, unable to hide his complete and utter lack of a clue right then. "_If_ Alan is behind all this, why leave them, then go to the trouble of fixing her up for college?"

"I don't know, man," Digg breathed out, running a frustrated hand over his face. "But I feel like every clue we get just leads to more questions."

"Well maybe Oliver got some answers tonight," Roy offered, understanding his growing frustration.

"Let's hope so."

"It does make me wonder though…As much as we know Felicity hates unsolved mysteries, and as good as she is at solving them, how is it that she never found all this out on her own?" Roy considered out loud, eyes roaming over to the bank of computer screens. "Why didn't she ever try to find her dad?"

"Because she didn't want to," Oliver's voice answered from behind them. They both turned to see him approach, duffel bag in hand. "We can safely assume that if Felicity wanted to find the man who abandoned them, she would have," he finished, placing the bag on the medical bay.

Diggle filled him in on what they'd learned about the scholarship. Oliver slid the transcript paper over to him, going over its contents as Digg spoke. If he was surprised at all by hearing that Alan had probably paid for his daughter's MIT education, he didn't show it.

"He thought she was the key to the future," he whispered. Roy exchanged looks with Digg who stepped forward, crossing his arms. "What did you find out from the ex-NSA?"

They listened without interrupting as Oliver described Laurel's interrogation of Bob Schaeffer. The man Schaeffer had described to them seemed like kind of a big deal, a thought Roy voiced aloud. "He called him 'the greatest mind the world would never know,'" Oliver told them.

"So why does a man like that just walk away from his work? I know Schaeffer claims the Libya thing changed his outlook, but he didn't leave the NSA til years later. Why then?" Digg asked.

"He may not have had a choice," Oliver answered before telling them about the rumors going around the NSA.

Roy sat up straighter, pieces falling together at Oliver's words. "A.R.G.U.S.," he stated confidently, having no reason to question for the first time in hours. Oliver didn't reply, but Diggle swore loudly and began pacing back and forth. "It makes sense," Roy continued, it all seeming so obvious to him now. "You said it yourself, A.R.G.U.S. collects valuable assets. This Smoak guy had to be one hot commodity in those days."

"It would also explain why Waller's been dodging questions on the subject," Digg added. "Lyla went back to her office again tonight only to find that she'd had to leave the country all the sudden."

"She can't stay gone forever," Oliver said. One hand lay flat against the medical bay, supporting most of his body weight as he leaned into it, the other hand rested in his pants pocket. The picture of ease. Roy noticed that a strange calmness had come over him. Which was odd since Roy imagined he'd be gunning to ambush A.R.G.U.S.' headquarters right about now. Diggle must've noticed too, a crease had formed in between his eyebrows as he took in Oliver's stance. "Tell Lyla to back down. I have a feeling this is much larger than we all thought. I don't want her jeopardizing her career."

"Oliver-" He held up his hand to stop Digg's words. "I can handle this. Tell her to drop it."

"What are you going to do?" Digg demanded, taking another step toward him. "Torture it out of her? That woman-"

"I'll do whatever it takes, Diggle! Amanda Waller is done destroying lives."

"Killing her won't get Felicity back."

"Doesn't mean I won't still enjoy doing it," Oliver threw back, taking his hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck.

"You don't mean that," Diggle replied softly, shaking his head.

"Go home, John," Oliver told him, fixing his eyes on the floor between them. Digg stared at him for a few more seconds, a combination of anger and hurt on his face, before storming away from them without another word.

Oliver began silently putting away his gear. A full ten minutes passed before Roy got up the nerve to speak. "You don't think Waller had something to do with Felicity's disappearance, do you?"

He took his time before answering, keeping his back to Roy as he laid out arrows on the table before him. "It's a possibility I considered, and even though I don't think she would have _recruited_ Felicity, given her connection to me, I can't rule anything out." He picked up one of his arrows for inspection, finger sliding over the pointed tip of the arrowhead. "But if Alan really was A.R.G.U.S., and he did take Felicity, then it all has to come back to Waller somehow."

"How do you know that for sure?"

"Call it a gut feeling. She's to blame for this."

"And you want to kill her." Again he had no need to question it; Roy could see absolutely that this was Oliver's plan of action. So he wasn't surprised when he didn't respond. "Look, I wouldn't blame you. After what she did to you, and especially if she's the one responsible for Felicity. You've got all the reasons in the world for wanting to take her out, and if you said the word, I'd suit up right now and follow you. It sure as hell isn't my place to stop you." Roy's words spilled out quickly and sincerely. He knew without doubt that he'd follow Oliver, would even help him kill her if he asked, but he also knew Oliver. Knew that the decision would eat at him for the rest of his life. So Roy had to try, at the very least _try_, to talk him out of it, if only because it was what Felicity would have done.

"Oliver, you love Felicity. That's obvious, and even admirable that you're willing to do whatever it takes to bring her home. And you will… That might be the only thing I am sure of in the middle of all this crap we keep finding out. Just… remember that, okay? Remember how you feel about her, and why you're doing this," he tried and failed to mask the emotion behind his words. But it was a lost cause, and maybe for good reason. "That's something I wish I understood before, with Thea… You can have all the best intentions in the world, but in the end, you just have to be someone worth coming home to."

Roy cast his eyes to the folded hands in his laps. Hands that had caused so much damage. Hands that had taken the life of an innocent police officer. Taken a man from his young family. Hands that would never be fully washed clean of the blood spilled on them. That would never again hold Thea Queen, or caress her face, or run through her soft hair.

God, how he wished he could go back. Make the right choice. Be honest. And just…be with her.

He stood and grabbed his red hoodie from the back of the chair, pushing aside the regret for now. It would come back later, when his nightmares woke him from whatever rest he could manage. And he'd deal with them just as always. He zipped up the jacket and raised the hood, sinking his hands deep into its front pockets as he walked slowly past Oliver toward the stairs.

"You're a good man, Roy," Oliver said just as Roy reached the stairs. "And Thea knows that."

He paused with one foot on the stairs and let Oliver's words sink in. "Maybe someday we'll live up to how they see us," Roy said without turning around, taking the rest of the steps out of the Foundry.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

She slowly turned the knob, ears listening for any sort of foreign triggering mechanism as she did so, and opened the door into the darkened apartment. She took a moment to visually scan the room in front of her, a force of habit she'd picked up somewhere along the way. Satisfied that there were no immediate threats coming from inside, she pulled the key from the lock and shut the door behind her. After securing the three deadbolts, she turned to the glowing touch screen to her left and keyed in her eight digit passcode, rearming her personal security system.

Amanda Waller's one bedroom apartment was small, completely devoid of pictures on its neutral colored walls, and perfectly efficient. She never spent more than three nights a week there anyway, as her job required her presence in sometimes the furthest reaches of the planet. Her last stretch had taken her away for almost two full weeks, a trip for which she'd had no time to pack or prepare.

But such was the case with her job. And her life, for that matter. It was the path she'd chosen, so though her apartment was impersonal and bare, it was exactly what she needed. The phrase "it isn't much, but it's home" came to mind, and the inaccuracy of the statement amused her as she made her way to the bedroom. The term "home" was nothing more than a ridiculous sentiment coined by those so desperate for feeling that they'd attached it to a dwelling place.

No, this was not a home in that sense. Amanda didn't have time to build petty attachments to trivial matters of necessity. Having a "home" only meant the likelihood of its being exploited as another possible weakness. And she didn't have any weaknesses. Not anymore.

She flipped on the light switch once inside the bedroom where she removed her heels, placing them next to the others that rested in perfect alignment at the bottom of the disproportionately large closet. She grabbed a loose hanger and put away her suit jacket while standing there, intermixing it with the other various shades of blacks and grays nestled side by side.

She then made her way into the bathroom, untucking her blouse as she did so, where she removed her earrings and the pins fastening her hair into a tight bun. She turned the water on to fill the tub, relishing in the steam that hit her face and filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation for a second, the exhaustive two weeks finally getting to her. That's when she decided that she'd treat herself to a glass of wine while she relaxed in the hot water. Hopefully she'd remembered to restock her supply the last time she was in town.

Her bare feet didn't make a sound as they followed the white tiles down the short hallway toward the kitchen. Light filled the otherwise dark room when she opened the refrigerator door. She was just reaching for the half empty bottle of Merlot when she stilled, hand pausing just above the bottle, instantly on full alert though showing no signs of it. A half of a second later, she retrieved the bottle and sat it on the counter.

The door to the refrigerator closed, shrouding her in darkness once more as she removed the cork with one hand and unbuttoned the bottom half of her blouse with the other, allowing for easier access to her gun. She then retrieved a glass from the cabinet in front of her.

"I'm impressed," she admitted nonchalantly to the dark living room behind her while filling her glass. "I guess we trained you well." She took a long drink, savoring the taste on her tongue. "But where are my manners? Can I get you a glass, Mr. Queen?"

Amanda turned to face her intruder. The Arrow stood, bow drawn, in the shadows of her living room. She casually leaned back against the kitchen counter, smirking over her glass. "You can put the arrow away, Oliver. We both know you don't kill any more."

She gave away nothing that would show him just how unconvinced she was at that statement. She full well knew why he was here, just as she knew how desperate he was. And desperate men did desperate things. What she didn't know was how he'd managed to find the location of this apartment, a place she was certain no one was aware of, let alone dismantle the security system in order to get in.

"I need answers, Waller. And I'm not leaving here without them." She could easily hear the seething rage underlying the practiced calm of his voice. It seemed he still hadn't learned to reign in his emotions, she observed with a roll of her eyes.

"I don't owe you anythi-"

"YOU OWE ME EVERYTHING!" Oliver roared, taking two steps toward her. Her hand twitched toward her gun infinitesimally, but she stood otherwise unaffected by his outburst.

"Nice to see you still have a flare for the dramatics," she uttered apathetically. "I don't have the answers you seek."

"You're lying. I know that A.R.G.U.S. recruited Alan Smoak. And I know that you wouldn't let someone like him just leave. So _Where. Is. He?!"_

She sat her glass down, narrowing her eyes at the man before her. "Alan Smoak is a traitor and a ghost. He dropped off our radar long ago, and believe me, no one missed him."

"Wrong again. His wife and daughter missed him. A daughter he made sure would follow in his footsteps and graduate from MIT. So don't stand there and pretend that he's not involved in her disappearance, and that you aren't aware of exactly what that involvement is! I know you've been stonewalling Lyla's attempts to find him."

"I'm growing tired of Agent Michael's habit of considering matters of national security pillow talk," she replied, crossing over the kitchen's threshold. "And your assumption that Smoak has anything to do with your secretary's disappearance is naïve at best. Let's consider the more likely scenario here," she said with a cross of her arms. "That being the one where one of your enemies found and exploited your embarrassingly obvious Achilles' heel, leaving you distracted and vulnerable. Really Oliver, for someone who makes his living by a secret identity, you're not very good at hiding your feelings. That silly costume does nothing for you so long as you insist on wearing your heart on that green sleeve."

She moved into the living room, growing more confident with each word she said. "Or how about the other equally plausible scenario where she'd just grown tired of it all and left you." The words tore at him, deflating his entire threatening demeanor in one go. She took a seat on the chair's arm next to her, enjoying the show.

"Please, Amanda," he whispered. She almost laughed out loud at the sight of the Arrow - the terror of Starling City's criminal elite - _begging._ "I know there's got to be a beating heart inside of you somewhere. Find whatever shred of humanity you have left and help me. For once in your life, do something selfless."

And just like that, all humor vanished. "And what of your humanity, Oliver? Last I heard you decided that you couldn't be both the Arrow and Oliver Queen. So what do you want? For me to comb the surface of the planet and bring your lady love back, just so you can reinforce to her all the reasons she can't have you? And you stand there with the nerve to call _me_ selfish. If you're so desperate to place blame, why don't you point that arrow at your own '_beating heart.'_"

Oliver tightened his bow as she spoke, taking aim at her chest as he closed the distance between them; Amanda stood at the same time, drawing and pointing her gun at his forehead in one breath. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as the war raged inside him. The air was charged around them. She could see how close he was to the tipping point. He was about to break; her finger pulsed over the gun's trigger. Ironically the only sound she heard was her own beating heart echoing in her ears. She never took her eyes off of his.

After what seemed longer, but in actuality was only about ten seconds, Oliver lowered his bow and backed away from her. Amanda let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. He turned to stare out her window, seemingly unconcerned with the weapon he knew was trained on him. She smiled in satisfaction at his very predictable response. Oliver wasn't the only one who could uncover secrets, and she had obviously hit the nail right on the head.

"I feel sorry for you," he finally told her.

This time she did laugh. "Is that so?"

"For whatever circumstance in your life that led you to be this cold. It must have hurt, and for that, I'm truly sorry."

Her back instantly stiffened. The bored indifference for him turning into hate in one split second. She almost pulled the trigger right then, but was unwilling to give him the benefit of an emotional response. "Love is weakness."

"Maybe. But I think Felicity would say that it's also strength. Gives us something worth fighting for, and something worth going home to," he turned to face her again. She schooled her features, masking the emotion his words had caused inside her. But it was too late. She knew he'd seen.

Again she fought the urge to murder him.

Amanda found herself wishing he'd draw his bow again. A murderous Arrow she could deal with, but a sentimental Oliver Queen she could not.

"And it's for that reason that I won't stop looking. Even if it takes the rest of my life. I'll find Alan Smoak. I'll get my answers. I will bring her home."

He retreated to the door and entered the code on the touch screen before unlocking the deadbolts. He paused in the open doorway, his dark shape silhouetted by the dim light coming in from the hall.

"For someone who makes her living with secrets, you should really think about coming up with a better password than your husband's birthday." She gaped at him, his words taking the breath right out of her.

"Careful Amanda," Oliver said, throwing a smug look over his shoulder. "Your heart is showing." And with that he disappeared into the hallway. Leaving Amanda alone in her cold, dark, yet perfectly efficient apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Sorry for the delay guys. Hope you haven't given up on this story! We're getting close... I promise :)

Quick note before continuing - I am not following the timeline of events as seen thus far in season 3. In this story, Roy and Thea aren't back together, the LOA isn't breathing down Oliver's neck, Ray and Felicity never hooked up, and Captain Lance doesn't know about Sara's death (and is by extension, still _sane_). If I had to pinpoint the timing, I'd say this story takes place shortly after the events of 3x02 "Sara." Hope that helps clear some things up.

Also, I haven't had the chance to respond to the reviews from my last update, but I will definitely get to them. I value each and every bit of feedback I get. You guys are the best!

And a special shout out to **dearg amadan** because you are awesome, my friend. 'Nuff said.

HAPPY READING ARROW FANS! XOXO

* * *

It started out as a quiet Tuesday evening. Roy and Laurel were sparring on the other side of the bank of computers where Diggle sat monitoring police scanners throughout the city. Earlier, Oliver had been resolutely barred from training with Laurel after she'd accused him of going easy on her.

"How do you expect me to ever get _good enough_ if you don't train me like I'm good enough?!" She'd spat back at him after he'd given his reasons for holding back. He didn't have it in him to fight with her at that time though, but he was sure the chance would arise again. He had a feeling that particular fight would never end.

He chose instead to go over the list he'd been working on since his last encounter with Waller. On it, he'd written down the names of every man and woman who'd had contact with Alan Smoak during his time with the NSA and A.R.G.U.S. The list of those who'd had interactions with him once he'd joined the latter was comparably smaller, so Oliver had started there.

Researching each person, finding them, and questioning them for any information regarding Smoak or his whereabouts was a slow, tasking process. But he'd crossed the names off the list, one by one, with no further clues as to where the man had disappeared to.

Crossing the names inevitably reminded Oliver of his early days as the Hood, when his solo mission to cleanse the city of the powerful corrupt had consisted of just that – crossing names off a list, with no thought or moral compass to guide him in another direction. Until Diggle and Felicity came along, turning his one man crusade into a team effort. Showing him that there was so much more he could do to fix the problems at hand than just killing.

His narrow minded mission was in a way his own failure to the city. Digg and Felicity had helped to broaden his scope, saving Oliver from himself.

But now the scope seemed too broad. Too much. He couldn't focus on fixing the problems of this city when he wanted to focus all his attention and efforts on finding Felicity. Just as it'd been when this began, the only thing that mattered to Oliver was following the list in front of him.

He'd located the home address of the next person on the list and suited up, preparing to make the four hour drive that night, just when the police scanners lit up. "Oliver, we've got a problem," Digg announced.

Oliver moved to stand behind him. "What is it?" he asked as Diggle pulled up several street security feeds. He paused, hand going to the earpiece he wore as he listened to the reports coming through. Laurel and Roy made their way over, watching Digg from across the desk.

"Five armed men have just taken Lance's precinct. They've barricaded themselves in. Police have got a negotiator trying to contact them now."

Oliver met Laurel's horror struck eyes. "What do they want?" Roy asked. "Taking a precinct full of officers? I mean, they have to know this can't end well for them."

"Which means they probably don't care who they take down with them," Oliver agreed. Laurel was already moving toward her Canary suit. He didn't bother trying to stop her. He instructed Roy to suit up as well. "If SWAT goes barreling in there people are going to die," he said to Digg as way of explanation.

"And if Laurel goes in there half-cocked, she might get herself killed," he pointed out, not bothering to lower his voice.

"We've got her back," Roy declared through the T Shirt he was pulling over his head. Oliver ignored the annoyed and slightly panicked look John threw at him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're on coms. Talk us through."

* * *

Shattered glass splayed out through the department's bullpen as Oliver and Roy simultaneously broke through, releasing their corded arrows and drawing another in one lithe movement. Oliver's arrow found its target across the room, entering the shoulder of one of the masked men holding a semi-automatic rifle. He collapsed with a shout, bullets pelting the walls and ceiling tiles with his second-too-late reaction.

Laurel, who'd made her entrance a la Canary through one of the ceiling tiles at the same time as Roy and Oliver, was busy going one-on-one with another of the men. She whipped her baton across the man's jaw, her body following through with a complete 360 degree turn, lowering as she did so, before taking his feet right out from under him with her right leg.

Oliver didn't have time to cast a glance at Roy as he was already moving toward Lance's office where the group's supposed ring leader held the captain. He dodged gunfire as he ran headlong into the window of the office, tucking into a barrel roll, before landing on his feet with arrow drawn at the man holding his weapon at Lance's head.

"I swear to God, I'll shoot him!" he yelled, voice lined with panic. Oliver responded by sending an arrow through the man's arm, pinning it to the wall behind him and releasing his hold on the gun.

Oliver moved to him, kicking the gun out of the way and ripping his arrow out of the wall, and out of the man's arm. He released a blood-curdling scream which Oliver silenced with a right hook, sending him to the floor. He crouched over the gunman who started pleading for his life.

With that, something inside of Oliver snapped.

Overcome with fury, he delivered blow after blow into the man's face. This unfamiliar, unimportant excuse for a man whose reasons Oliver didn't know and didn't care about fueled this foolhardy attack. This man who had nothing better to do than to stake his life and the lives of those men out there on some stupid vendetta against Starling's police force. Who had nothing better to do than to take Oliver away from the only thing he _needed_ to work on.

All of the sudden, it was this unassuming man's fault that he hadn't found Felicity. His fault that she'd got taken in the first place. And even further than that, he was why Sara was dead, and his mother, and Tommy. Why the Glades had been destroyed; why his family's company taken away; why he was on this God-forsaken mission anyway. This man, and all the criminals like him, the reason why his father had charged him with saving the city he'd failed. A city that, in that moment, Oliver hated with every fiber of his being.

That hate is what drove his fist repeatedly into the man's face, long after he'd lost consciousness. Oliver became vaguely aware of Lance's shouts coming from in front of him. A pair of arms looped through Oliver's, preventing his next strike and attempting to pry him from the man. He disentangled himself easily, turning to send the curve of his bow into a uniformed police officer's face, and watched hazily as the young man fell back into the wall with blood now gushing from his nose.

Captain Lance entered his field of vision then, mouth moving in angry succession with the words Oliver couldn't hear. Roy burst through the office door and together with Lance manhandled Oliver in his slightly dazed state to the rooftop entrance. Cool wind and a steady drizzle of rain whipped across his face as he stepped out into the night air, causing the ringing that had been in his ears to abruptly stop. Roy and Lance followed, closing the access door behind them.

In his earpiece, Oliver heard Diggle and Laurel speaking at the same time Lance asked, "Laurel?"

"She's clear. SWAT is moving in through the service stairwell now," Roy answered.

"Right. Get out of here, Harper," Lance ordered. Roy hesitated, casting a furtive glance down at Oliver who at some point had leaned forward to rest his bow and hands against his knees.

"Go," Oliver finally managed to get out. He straightened to full height in time to see Roy disappearing over the building's ledge. He blinked the remaining fogginess from his vision, willing himself back to the present. All in all, not even three minutes had passed since breaking through the precinct's windows.

"The hell was that back there?" Lance questioned angrily. "You would've killed that man. Then you attack one of my officers?!"

Oliver didn't respond, just turned his body slightly away from Lance and looked at the city's skyline before him. The hatred he'd just felt for it now focused upon himself. He couldn't blame his father, or the city, or even its criminals for his current state.

He couldn't blame anyone but himself.

"You've gotta pull yourself together," Lance told him.

"I can't do this anymore." The admission was spoken in such a small, weakened voice that Oliver hardly recognized it as his own. Lance signed heavily and moved toward him, placing a hand on Oliver's shoulder. His entire stance seemed to sag at the contact, and he didn't even have it in him to move away.

"I know what this is, son. I've been there. But you can't just stop functioning 'cause she's gone." Tears stung at the back of Oliver's eyes, threatening to spill over at the words _she's gone_. "Take a night or two. Hell, maybe you need three. Take a step back and allow yourself to really feel it. I'm guessing you haven't slowed down enough to do that yet."

Oliver's head dipped lower in response, just the thought of letting in those feelings he'd carefully kept at bay exhausting him.

"Don't lose your head. The city needs you. _She_ needs you. It'll all be waiting for you when you get back."

Lance whipped his head toward the sound of the roof's access door opening, but Oliver was already moving. He released an arrow into the side of the tallest neighboring building before gripping the cord and flying through the air toward it. Leaving Lance, and the rest of Starling City, behind for the night.

* * *

The smell of bacon awoke Oliver 17 hours later. Midafternoon sunlight poured in through the curtains to his left, warming the exposed skin of his back. Several beats of his heart passed before the memories of the previous night came back to him.

He'd run from the precinct in a trance, his pounding feet on the wet pavement guiding him to a destination that his conscious mind wasn't aware of. In hindsight, it made sense though. This being the only place he could think of to disappear to, to be left alone with the thoughts and feelings coursing through him.

He'd picked the lock, gaining entrance to the dark apartment. The slightly musty scent of stagnant air hit him upon opening the door, signifying its weeks of disuse. He took quiet steps into the room as if to not disturb the occupants therein. Occupants that consisted of Felicity's small furniture and quirky decorations, which he stood among when he was finally assaulted by the emotions he'd been pushing down for weeks.

His bow fell out of his hands and onto the wood flooring with a clack seconds before he'd followed suit, collapsing to his knees and resting his forehead against the pink yoga mat laid out in the middle of the room. Oliver didn't know how much time passed while he remained fixed in that same position, shaking as desperate sobs finally broke free. He'd clawed at the floor around the mat until his fingers bled, until he could take the pain in his chest no longer.

He remembered stumbling from the living room down the hall into Felicity's bedroom, stripping off the gear that had all the sudden become too tight, too strangling, too suffocating, along the way. The last thing he remembered was the scent of lavender and vanilla – _of Felicity _– engulfing him as he fell forward into the sheets of her still unmade bed. Within seconds, he'd fallen asleep.

Oliver groggily pushed up from the bed, ignoring the pain in his knuckles as he did so, and took a deep breath. He hadn't been dreaming; the smell of bacon filled the room, along with pancakes and coffee. He could hear sizzling grease coming from the kitchen.

He silently crawled out of the bed and moved to the open doorway, peaking around it to catch a glimpse of whomever was using the kitchen. But they were on the other side of the wall separating the kitchen from the living area. He stepped out of the room and planted his back on the wall opposite the bathroom. Folded neatly atop a linen chest in the bathroom rested his Arrow gear, a quick glance toward the front door revealed his bow hanging from the coat rack and his boots resting by the door.

He inched toward the kitchen and slowly turned his head to see around the partition. Oliver's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of the blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth.

The ponytail turned, bringing Oliver face to face with Donna Smoak who shrieked and sent the spoon she'd been using to stir the pancake batter flying through the air. Oliver immediately took a step back, holding his hand out in the air in front of him to try and calm her.

Donna placed a palm to her chest and blew the piece of hair that had fallen out of her face. "God, what are you, a ninja?! I thought for sure I'd hear you when you got up," she said adding a nervous laugh at the end.

Oliver found himself at a loss for words. She cleared her throat awkwardly at the blank stare he was giving her before casting her eyes down and quickly back up again, fixing them on the ceiling. It was then he realized that he was only in his underwear. He felt his face warm with embarrassment, a reaction he didn't think he'd felt since he was sixteen, and darted toward the bathroom.

Once he closed the door behind him, Oliver looked upon his reflection for the first time in 48 hours. Dark paint was still smeared around the edges of his puffy eyes and underneath, where tears had left trails down his cheeks. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, and the scruff around his jaw almost qualified as a beard now. He was also paler than usual, contrasting with his scars, making them more pronounced looking.

And Donna Smoak had seen it all. Oliver briefly wondered what must have been going through her mind when she folded away his Arrow suit.

He took a quick shower, washing away the paint on his face and the blood still lining his hands. Afterward he had no choice but to dawn his leather pants and the long-sleeved black T shirt from the night before.

Donna sat on a stool at the island, one leg draped over the other, its barefoot jumping up and down to the rhythm playing on a tv ad. She looked up from the magazine she'd been perusing when Oliver appeared and quickly hopped off the stool to grab a plate. He watched as she piled the plate with bacon, pancakes, and eggs.

"Hope you like your eggs scrambled, because that's all I know how to make," she said while setting the plate in front of him.

Donna stood, hands clasped, behind the island waiting for him to make a move. He shifted uncomfortably under her wide eyes and expectant smile. He opened his mouth to tell her that she shouldn't have gone to the trouble, or decline the meal altogether, but neither came out. Instead his stomach growled loudly causing Donna to giggle and perform some sort of happy clap thing before turning around to fix her own plate. At this, Oliver genuinely smiled.

He pulled out the other stool and sat, placing his hands on his upper legs as he waited for Donna to join him. She placed the syrup next to his plate and Oliver smiled his thanks before the two began eating their afternoon breakfast in a companionable silence.

He had almost finished the entire plate when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Aren't you Jewish?"

Donna tore off a piece of bacon in her mouth and let out a snort, which Oliver found surprisingly endearing and smiled again. "Not since my husband gave up his seat at the table," she answered. "I think we had bacon for at least one meal every day for a year after that. The kids at Felicity's school started calling her Feli-_piggy_ though because her hair always smelled like bacon grease. I limited bacon consumption to just Saturdays after that. Kids can be cruel."

She smiled fondly at the memory. Oliver conjured up his own image of Feli-piggy, shaking his head in amusement at what a first grader Felicity must have looked like demanding her mother to lay off the bacon cooking.

"Thank you," he said when he could eat no more. "For breakfast. And I'm sorry about… When I came here I didn't think… I just needed," but he couldn't finish. He let out a frustrated breath at his inability to even apologize or explain himself properly.

"To be near her," Donna supplied the words he could not. "I know. That's why I'm here, too."

Guilt racked Oliver when a shadow seemed to pass over Donna's naturally bright features. He hadn't spoken to her once since Felicity's disappearance, hadn't even thought to call. He'd been satisfied Diggle had learned all he could about Alan Smoak from her and didn't feel the need to press her for more information. Her usefulness to the Arrow had been met. But Oliver Queen should have reached out, offered her some sort of comfort, especially since he was supposed to have been her daughter's former employer and friend.

He'd been so consumed with his own mission to find Felicity, and with his own suffering, that he'd conveniently overlooked the struggle her mother must be going through having been left in the dark.

"I'm so sorry. I never called or-"

She stopped him by laying her hand on top of his. "It's okay. I talk to either John or Ray every day. I get the feeling Ray enjoys talking a little more than you. Or me, which is saying _a lot_. Besides, you've been busy," she said while her eyes drifted over to where his bow hung by the door. "I take it Felicity knew?"

The emotion was thick in his throat when he confirmed Donna's question. He watched as she let that sink in, nodding to herself while she continued looking toward the bow. He braced himself for the coming accusation, the blame she'd no doubt place on Oliver for putting her daughter at such a risk. He deserved whatever she decided to throw at him, that being words or objects.

"I always hoped she'd end up with someone less ambitious. That's a horrible thing for a mother to wish, isn't it? But I've seen what ambition can do to a person. How it can rob them of their happiness." She turned back to Oliver, studying his face with a curious expression, but with no signs of resentment. "But I guess we can't help who we love, can we?"

He didn't respond. He wanted to tell her that she had it wrong, that he and Felicity weren't together and couldn't _end up_ that way either. But he had a feeling that denying it wouldn't matter, wouldn't change what she'd already detected with her mother's intuition.

"I didn't want her to wind up like me. It's a hard life, competing for a man's love. Especially when your competition is his devotion to his work."

Oliver swallowed the lump forming in his throat; her words hit too close to home. "I think she'd be proud to be like you. Look at what you've done – you raised an incredible daughter by yourself," he argued.

Donna blinked away tears, smiling kindly at him. "I can't even take the credit for that. She's too much like her father; it's like it was built into her," she said, scraping a speck on the island's counter top with her long, pink fingernail. "From the questions John's thrown at me, I gathered you think he has something to do with her disappearance?"

"That's our best theory, yes," Oliver answered, noting the lack of change in her expression. "You're not surprised by that?"

"Yes and no, I guess. I always had this feeling when Felicity was growing up that he hadn't removed himself from her life completely. More of an instinct, you could say. Almost like I could sense his presence at times. And when she was in the hospital for oral surgery – she had her wisdom teeth removed when she was a teenager – I could have _sworn_ I saw him there. I even followed him to the parking garage, but it was like he vanished into thin air. Like a ghost." She let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh when she met Oliver's eyes. "Crazy, right?"

"Maybe not," he answered truthfully. "He obviously hoped she would follow in his footsteps by setting up that MIT scholarship."

"That's what I was afraid of. I begged her not to go. But she promised her decision had nothing to do with him, that she didn't want anything to do with him at all. I watched her burn a letter after reading it the day before her high school graduation; she told me it was from him."

_That_ was news. Oliver wasn't aware that there had been any contact between father and daughter since his departure in '95. "What did the letter say?" he pressed.

"I didn't ask. My curiosity was never on Felicity's level. But now I wish I would've," she admitted regretfully.

Oliver processed the new information, trying to determine if Alan's attempt to reach out to Felicity in any way changed what he already knew. The fact that he'd risk contacting her after his "going dark" said a lot. And though it was interesting to note, Oliver wasn't so sure that it was necessarily relevant. Now if he could actually get his hands on the correspondence that'd be a different story.

"There's something I take comfort in though, and maybe it'll do the same for you," she continued. "And that is that, despite all his many flaws as a husband, a father, and a human being, I do know that Alan would never, _never_ do anything to hurt Felicity."

It didn't comfort him; he'd also assumed as much since the details of Alan Smoak began to unravel, but it didn't lessen his determination to hunt the man down. He'd taken Felicity away from her home, her life, her family, and doing that, no matter what his intentions, _did_ hurt her.

Which made Oliver want to hurt him. Badly.

He kept those thoughts to himself, however, smiling slightly as thanks for her attempt to ease his worry. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the island and covered his face with his hands. Despite having slept for the longest period of time since his college partying days, he still felt tired. More than that, exhausted. A deep weariness that seeped through every layer, attaching itself to his muscles and bones, making even the smallest of breaths seem like a chore.

"I miss her," he whispered into his hands, summing up the entirety of his struggle to Donna.

"Me too."

A full minute passed in silence before Donna stacked Oliver's plate on top of hers. He immediately snapped out of it and halted her movements with a hand on her arm. He picked up their dishes and moved them to the sink, letting the hot water run over them as he threw away the egg shells littered across the counter top.

Donna moved into the living room, graciously allowing Oliver the room for cleaning up. He'd finished his wipe down of the counters and was starting in on the dishes when Donna spoke behind him.

"It was nice of Ray to cover the rent on the apartment until Felicity gets back. She likes her place."

Oliver tried to push down the flare of irrational jealousy that her words ignited. It _was_ nice of Ray. He owed him a lot. And that was probably what bothered him most of all.

"He's a good guy," she added. Oliver placed the last of their dishes on the rack for drying with just the slightest bit of excessive force.

"Yes, he is," he agreed, fully meaning the words. Ray was a good man and had been very helpful. Didn't mean he had to like his help. Or him.

He dried off his hands, minding the sore spots there, and moved to join Donna in the living room. He sat on the beige couch opposite her, sinking into its plush cushions and resting his head against the back. He closed his eyes for a second, attempting to release some of the irritation that'd built. When he opened them again he saw Donna staring at the space above the television.

He followed her gaze to the framed poster and a bitter laugh escaped his lips, at which she gave him a reproaching look. "You're a good man too, Oliver. You know that right?"

Oliver didn't answer but linked his hands on top of his stomach, studying the bruises and cuts marring his knuckles. As if those marks spoke to just what kind of man Oliver truly was. Donna must have noticed them at some point, but she didn't comment or ask.

"And not because of your family name, or the company they built, or the money. Though from what I hear there's not much of _that_ left," she continued undeterred, speaking that last bit out of the corner of her mouth sheepishly, drawing a small smile out of him.

"And not because of what you survived. Not even because of what you do now to protect and defend this city. I'm saying apart from all that, maybe in spite of it all, you – _Oliver_ – are a good man."

Oliver heard the sincerity in her voice and wished, more than ever before, that he could believe her words. But this was Felicity's mother after all, and if she was anything like her daughter then she'd likely choose to see the best in people, no matter how misguided.

"With all due respect, Ms. Smoak, you don't know me that well. If you did, you wouldn't feel that way."

"You're right, I don't," she admitted, not taking offense. "But Felicity does. And she loves you. Do yourself a favor Oliver and don't lose yourself behind that mask and distractingly tight leather you wear. Make the choice my husband failed to – live, and love, and be more than what you do. My daughter deserves someone who will choose her for a change."

A lone tear had escaped out of his eye, trailing down his cheek, as her words convicted him to his core. He didn't move to wipe it away as he found himself frozen under Donna's stare. The same look, the same eyes, with which Felicity had beheld him countless times before when she seemed to be seeing directly into his soul. A soul that she still considered worthy of redemption. The resemblance was uncanny, so much so that Oliver had to divert his eyes back to the grinning archer on the wall and remind himself to breathe.

Several moments passed before he found it in him to speak again. "Do you think… would you mind if I just stayed here with you for a while?" he asked in a feeble voice, not looking at her, suddenly embarrassed again at how juvenile he sounded.

Donna tucked her feet underneath her and threw an object his way. He raised a purely reactionary arm and caught it midair. It was the television's remote control. "Your pick. But if you put it on _True Crime_ or _Law &amp; Order_ I'll kick your leather clad ass right out of here," she warned, focusing on the TV. Oliver smiled broadly at her profile, fully realizing how much he liked Donna Smoak. "No news either," she added.

Oliver repositioned his body, drawing his legs up to lay across the length of the couch. He pointed the remote and started flipping through the channels. "Thank you," he eventually said, hoping to convey the scope of his meaning.

"You're welcome," she replied. "OH! Oh, stop! Go back. Ellen's on! I loooove Ellen."

Oliver did as instructed, though having no clue who Ellen was. He put the remote down and settled into his position, content to watch whatever she chose that day.

* * *

Two more weeks went by following Oliver's impromptu day of rest with Donna. He'd left Felicity's apartment feeling better, though not completely well; Donna's bright spirit had provided a much needed balm to his burning despair; a respite from the world that had begun to seem too large.

But as the days passed with no further developments, he felt himself slowly sinking back into the inevitable darkness. The light was steadily fading, Oliver having all but lost his hope in preserving what was left.

In all, 76 days had passed. And for 76 days Oliver had felt like he was back on the Gambit's small lifeboat, drifting aimlessly, letting the unforgiveable winds rock him back and forth as he waited - waited to die, or to live, or for just some change in the breeze to bring him finally, ultimately, to a destination. Land, heaven, or hell, it ceased to matter. After days spent at sea, he had decided then that any end was better than the agonizing wait.

It was the wait that tortured him above all else.

For 76 days Oliver waited for the news that would bring him safely to shore, or drown him in merciless waters. As much as he knew the odds, the glowering numbers coupled with the complete and utter lack of any evidence, he still prayed for the day the waiting would end.

He had perched himself onto the cold metal table in the lair beneath Verdant, feet dangling lifelessly under him as he absentmindedly fiddled with the object in his hands. He knew a decent amount of time must have passed as he remained in his fixed position, watching the computer in front of him run the same facial recognition scans it had been running for 76 days straight.

And still there was no trace.

The bright green fern, growing wildly out of control to his left, seemed to mock him as he rubbed his thumbs across the lenses of the small glasses in his hands, his own mind conjuring up the face the computer failed to find. He let his head drop away from the screen for a moment to study the dark-framed glasses, the image of their owner so clear in his memory that he almost felt as if he could reach out and touch her.

In his mind, she looked at him in the same way she did all those months ago as they stood in the hallway of the hospital, when she had practically begged him to quit dangling maybes; to just let her go.

He couldn't then.

Just like he couldn't now.

He'd live the rest of his life in this torturous limbo of dreading the worst and hoping for the best if he had to. He'd wait as long as it took. Finding her was the only way the torture would end for Oliver, but there were two very different ways in which she could be found.

When the wait was over, when he did finally find her, Oliver Queen's fate would be sealed. It would either mean death or life for him.

Four quick beeps resounded in front of him, signaling someone's entrance into the foundry through Verdant's alley door. He didn't look up from the glasses in his hands, mentally preparing himself for Roy's questions, or Digg's words of wisdom, or Laurel's reprimands. It was all the same to him – noisy chatter in the background of his guilt consumed thoughts of Felicity.

He'd crossed the last name off his list that night and still wasn't any closer to his answers.

The clicking of heels reached his ears and Oliver's frustration mounted. If Laurel was looking for a fight, she just might get one tonight. He was ready for it.

What he wasn't ready for was the voice breaking the silence of the foundry when the heeled steps ceased. "Are you ready to go get your girl?" Amanda Waller asked mockingly, tossing a large file folder on the desk in front of the computers.

Oliver had jumped to his feet at the sound of her voice, anticipating a much different fight than before. He kept suspicious eyes on her as he slowly approached the desk. He retrieved the folder, turning it over in his hands and looking down long enough to glance at the label on its front cover.

**A.R.G.U.S. 000142967 ALAN SMOAK – "MORDECAI"**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **This update is long overdue; I'm so very sorry for the delay. My real life schedule is such a bother =/

Also haven't had time to respond to reviews lately, but I will get on that ASAP. You guys continue to wow me with your overwhelming support. Thank you :)

We'll be seeing a lot more of Oliver's POV from here on, with maybe a few exceptions here and there. I hope y'all don't mind too much. As always, I'm very eager to hear your thoughts!

XOXO hlee

* * *

Oliver stared at the label for longer than was necessary, feeling his pulse jump in his throat at its implications.

"What is this?" he asked, unwilling to open the folder just yet.

"That's everything I have on Alan Smoak," Waller replied matter-of-factly.

"Lyla said there was no A.R.G.U.S. file on him."

"She was correct," she replied. "Any mentioning of his name in A.R.G.U.S. records has either been permanently redacted, or the file removed altogether. Mr. Smoak saw to that personally before his unexpected departure."

He looked away from the name to narrow his eyes at Amanda. "Then where did these come from?"

She set her briefcase on the floor and took the folder from his hands. "This is my own personal file on him. One I started long before he disappeared, and have maintained in the years since," she answered, flipping through some of the contents.

"I had suspicions about his questionable allegiances for years. Unfortunately, those doubts fell on deaf ears. My predecessor had a soft spot for Smoak, entertaining his wild ideas and fantastical projects. He had transformed our software programming and digital defense system, making it virtually impenetrable. Because of that, my superiors turned a blind eye. But I saw through him, saw him for the traitor that he was." Pride had seeped into her tone, momentarily high jacking her otherwise bored recall of events.

"I found evidence that he'd been programming in secret on a personal, nonregistered computer which was against one of our strictest regulations. My investigation garnered me an official reprimand for delving into matters beyond my pay grade. The next time, when I found his digital fingerprints on an encoded message between two Russian generals, I took my evidence straight to the Vice President. I was told the matter would be looked into discreetly, but the next thing I knew, I was being reassigned to Hong Kong."

Oliver's eyebrows shot up, to which Waller smiled sardonically in response. "That's right, Mr. Queen. You were my punishment for trying to expose Alan Smoak. Life's little ironies can be quite funny, can't they?" But she didn't sound amused in the slightest.

"Nevertheless, it must have brought the wrong kind of attention to him because it wasn't long after that he'd gone, wiping his existence from our records and taking with him very dangerous, very _damaging_ knowledge. My predecessor was removed from his position and I was promoted. It was made clear to me from day one, however, that finding Smoak was not a priority. My new duties at A.R.G.U.S. prevented me from pursuing him with any fervor, but I still maintained an open, non-computerized file on him.

"In the years since, Alan became a ghost. He's been spotted in random places across the globe, leaving his insignia on programs and firewall systems from Kazakhstan to Chile, all the while countering the counter-intelligence practice that he'd helped build. Rumors spread about a man who commanded the computer cosmos, who could hack into any system to commandeer it, or defend it. He held no allegiance to any government, selling his services to the highest bidder, and going by the name translated from the binary code of his digital fingerprint."

"Mordecai," Oliver guessed. Amanda nodded.

"Of course, knowing that Mordecai and Smoak were one in the same didn't make finding him any easier. I had several bait-and-switch contingencies at play, but we hit a stroke of luck two years ago when we intercepted a letter intended for Alan's one and only daughter. Posing as Felicity, several letters were sent back and forth, though the return address – a PO Box - always changed. I was close though, I could feel it.

"But then I received a text message on my personal phone from an untraceable number stating that if anything were to ever happen to him or his daughter, he had set in place a series of failsafe operations that would leave A.R.G.U.S. crippled beyond repair. I didn't doubt his ability to do so. Especially now that we have reason to believe that he's planning something to that effect, something that could disrupt every operating system on the planet."

"Where's that information coming from?" Oliver asked.

"I had someone on the inside," she answered, causing all the blood in Oliver's face to drain at once. "Before you let your imagination get the better of you, it's not Felicity. Though in hindsight, it would have been a good plan." Oliver breathed out a sigh of relief, thanking God that Waller hadn't thought to enlist Felicity in her cause.

"My bait-and-switch finally paid off. Smoak has built himself an impressive following of like-minded individuals. He recruited one of my sleeper agents, who was able to send several short communications regarding a 'plague to end all plagues.' And plans to move their base of operations. The last communication we received was shortly before Felicity went missing."

Oliver felt his anger rising as he considered this. "So you still have no idea where he is?"

"Do you think I'd be here if I didn't?" she asked, pulling a document from the folder and handing it to him. It was an aerial photograph of what looked like a compound. "This small island appeared on our satellite last night."

He studied the photograph for several seconds, already memorizing the layout. "Why hadn't you seen it before? Ray Palmer has a satellite, too. If Felicity was here, it would've found her already," he argued, despite the tendrils of hope that were forming inside of him.

"We believe it's cloaked, somehow shielded from satellite photography and thermography. We only had it in sight for six seconds."

He handed the photograph back to her, a disconcerting feeling rising. "Why haven't you raided it yet?"

"The situation is delicate, to say the least. If Smoak's threats are sound, sanctioning an official raid could have repercussions that I cannot risk at this time."

Oliver crossed his arms, recognizing Waller's conniving tactics clearly. "Meaning you don't want the blame if all goes to hell."

She smiled cynically in response. "Regardless, A.R.G.U.S. won't go in. I have orders to handle it remotely," she told him, her implications obvious.

"You're going to bomb it." Oliver felt suddenly sick, tasting bile at the back of his throat when he knew he'd guessed correctly. "Amanda-"

"I need you to understand the sensitive nature of this operation, Oliver. Should you go in, there can be no links back to A.R.G.U.S., or any government for that matter. Meaning no police, no moonlighting D.A.s, no Lyla Michaels or the father of her child. Do you understand? If I give you the location of this base, it can only be you."

He turned away slightly, rubbing his palm over his jaw. He wasn't a fool, he knew Waller was manipulating him for some ulterior reason, but he failed to see a different way. John and the others would be adamantly against it, he knew. But if getting Felicity back meant momentarily shaking hands with the devil, it was a price he was willing to pay.

"How do I know Felicity is even there?" he asked several moments later, imagining the possibility of going to a painted target only to find that it had all been for nothing.

She'd anticipated his question, pulling the last sheet from the back of the folder and handing it over. It was a grainy photograph, the image distorted by advanced focusing from a far off lens. Despite that, Oliver could easily make out who was pictured.

"Felicity."

* * *

There was no sign of Johnny or Sara when Lyla entered their home, but she could hear her fiancé's deep voice coming from the nursery. She deposited her bag on the counter top and mindlessly flipped through the mail she'd just picked up downstairs, fully aware that she was delaying the same conversation that greeted her every evening after work. The past couple of months had been hard on Johnny, and watching the disappointment on his face every time she came home with no information on Alan Smoak or Felicity had become all too painful.

And now that she did have news, Lyla wasn't so sure which she actually preferred. She had no idea how to share with him what she'd learned.

With a sigh, she left the mail in the kitchen and made her way to the nursery. Johnny was singing softly to Sara, rocking her gently back and forth in his arms, his back toward the door. Heart swelling at the sight, she leaned against the doorframe, happy to watch her family for a few perfect moments. She'd never know what she did right to be so blessed, but she thanked God every day for smiling upon them anyway.

He laid Sara down in her crib, finishing the last few lines of the song as Lyla approached to look over her sleeping daughter. She ran a hand lightly over her still hairless head, letting out a hum of contentment as Johnny wrapped an arm around Lyla and kissed the top of her head. She smiled and kissed him back, which he quickly broke away from to search her face with intense eyes.

"What's happened?" he asked, sensing rightly that today was different somehow. She motioned for him to follow her out of the room. She walked over to her briefcase on the kitchen island, keeping her back to him as she opened its flap and found the document she needed. "Lyla, what is it? Did you find something on Smoak?"

She left the document face down on the counter and turned around to face him. She gripped the edge of the island behind her, letting it support most of her weight. "We found _him_, Johnny. Well, A.R.G.U.S.' satellite did actually. There was no keeping it quiet this time. His compound is now a priority target."

"Where? Is Felicity with him?! Priority target for what?" Lyla could plainly see he had more questions, but was limiting them to the most important for now.

"A small island off the coast of southern Japan. He's got a small army stationed there in the ruins of an old mining colony. It's a fortress, physically and virtually – there's a sea wall around it. And we have intelligence that he's planning a cyber-terrorist attack. They're going to take it out."

He began pacing the length of the kitchen, tension setting into his entire fame. "We can't risk being crippled by what he's got planned," she added, starting her defense before he could mount his argument.

"So what's A.R.G.U.S.' plan then? Nuke the entire island? Felicity could be there, Lyla!" She flinched at his words. Sliding the document off the counter behind her, she held it at her side and braced for what would follow.

"Not 'could be,' Johnny. Felicity is there. Working alongside her father."

He stopped pacing at once, fixing anxious eyes on Lyla. "No way that's true."

She held out the document toward him. He eyed it warily before accepting and met her serious expression with one of his own before dropping his eyes. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion as his grip tightened on the photograph she'd given him – the satellite image of one Felicity Smoak walking freely along the grounds, tablet in hand.

"This isn't right," he finally deduced out loud. "She wouldn't work for him willfully. Something else is going on here. He threatened her, or someone else-"

"It doesn't matter," she interrupted, shaking her head.

"The hell it doesn't!"

Lyla took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter to A.R.G.U.S. Even if they could somehow be convinced that she is there as a hostage, despite the fact that she's obviously free to move about the compound, _and_ the fact that she has in her hands there the ability to contact someone on the outside… they've already considered her collateral damage."

"I don't accept that, Lyla! You get on the phone, go back to headquarters, do whatever you have to do to delay this. At least until Oliver and I can get her out," he demanded, remembering Sara in the next room and lowering his voice toward the end.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" she shot back, taking a step forward. "I told you, it's a _fortress_, Johnny! This guy has enough guns to arm a small country. And enough tech at his disposal to make A.R.G.U.S. and the NSA sweat. He'd see you coming twenty miles away."

He lowered his head, staring at the ground between them. "No way this plays out with Oliver not at least attempting to get to Felicity first," he told her calmly.

_Unless you don't tell him_, she thought and guilt immediately seized her. She knew he'd never agree to that, knew also that she couldn't live with keeping this from Oliver either. "I know. And that's what scares me. Because you'll go, too. Just like he did when you broke me out of prison."

"Felicity went, too," he whispered. Lyla blinked away tears and let out a shaky breath. "It might be too late. By the time the news reached me, Waller was already gone," she warned, hoping to prepare him for the worst.

He pulled out his phone. "I gotta call Oliver," he said, putting it to his ear at the same time someone knocked at their door. He raised his eyebrow in question and she shrugged, moving to look through the peephole.

"Oliver," she greeted, opening the door wide enough for Johnny to see. He pulled the phone away from his ear. "I was just calling you. Lyla has news."

Lyla tried and failed to read Oliver's expression upon hearing John's words. Instead of surprise or excitement at the prospect of new information, he just looked…resolved? Determined, perhaps. And also like he'd aged ten years in the 3 days since she'd seen him last. All of which she mentally catalogued just before seeing another figure behind him in the hall. "I do, too," he said, stepping into the apartment and out of the way to allow Amanda Waller to follow him in.

"What's she doing here, Oliver?" John asked, not attempting to hide his consternation at the sight of Lyla's boss in their home.

"I assumed, and it seems correctly," Waller began, nodding toward the satellite photograph on the island. "that Agent Michaels wouldn't be able to resist sharing this highly classified intelligence with you, Mr. Diggle. So I suggested to Oliver here that we might as well join you while you plot to thwart a top secret government-sanctioned mission," she said icily, cutting her eyes toward Lyla.

Lyla didn't try to deny it, or defend herself, instead raised her chin slightly and closed the door behind them.

"Waller, you can't bomb that island," Johnny stated, drawing her attention away from Lyla. "Felicity is there," he directed at Oliver's back.

Lyla watched him carefully after his entrance as he'd walked straight to the refrigerator to look over the pictures they had secured there with magnets. His eyes lingered on the one he himself had taken in the hospital the night Sara was born. In it, Lyla was sitting up in the hospital bed, flanked on one side by Johnny leaning over her, and the other by Felicity, who sat at the edge of the bed smiling down at the baby she cradled in her arms. Lyla saw his Adam's apple dip as he stared at the picture she knew he'd seen at least a 100 times since it was taken. His hands opened and closed several times before he buried them into his pockets.

"I know," he replied to Johnny several seconds later. "I'm going after her."

Though Lyla already knew this would be his course of action, her heart still sank at the words. "So you called off the attack?" John asked Waller, but Lyla already knew the answer.

"That call is coming from the very top of the chain of command, I'm afraid. The best I could do was buy 72 more hours," she answered, not meeting his or anyone else's eyes. Lyla had crossed her arms, regarding Waller suspiciously.

"Why?" she blurted. Waller met her suspicious eyes with a sharp glare of her own.

"You'd do well to accept this offer without wasting valuable time trying to flesh out my motivations. The delay is only that, and it's far from a guaranteed successful extraction. Three days from now I will blow that island off the map, with or without Oliver on it. No one outside this room will know of his presence there. Should things go badly, to the rest of the world, and my superiors, it will appear as if Oliver Queen vanished into the same thin air as his ex-secretary. The tabloids will eat it up."

She let that resonate among them, glancing from Lyla to John, before moving back toward the front door. "This is where I leave you," she announced, passing by Lyla. She opened the door and paused in its wake. "And if I find out that you've so much as breathed a word of this to anyone, I won't hesitate to orphan your little girl."

She looked toward Lyla once more over her shoulder, conveying her sincerity before leaving the apartment.

Lyla's eyes met John's, unspoken words and promises passing between them in milliseconds.

"So what's your plan, Oliver?" he asked him, causing Oliver to turn away from the refrigerator and face them. "You can't parachute in undetected."

"And if you approach from the mainland, you've got trained guns and nine miles of sea between you and Felicity," Lyla added, moving to stand next to Johnny and taking his hand. Oliver nodded his agreement to both, glancing down at the satellite image on the counter between them. A ghost of a smile passed over his face so quickly that Lyla thought she'd imagined it.

"Good thing we know someone who can walk on water."

* * *

Oliver sprinted across the beach, loose sand spraying around his feet which soles' were barely given enough time to plant, let alone gather particles, at his current speed. His legs burned in a familiar feeling of exertion not unlike the countless times he'd found himself running for his life on Lian Yu. After undergoing years of the exercise, he'd begun to relish in the burn of his muscles, using it as fuel and strength to go even faster, even further.

He harnessed it now, for just as those times before, Oliver was again on an island, it _had_ to be an island, running for his life. Running toward Felicity.

As such, it still would've been convenient if Barry had been able to go further than the beach. Four hours after meeting with Waller at Lyla and Diggle's, Oliver and Barry made it to the small piece of land where Smoak's compound was located, shedding thirteen hours off what would have been the normal travel time. But once arriving on the beach, Barry, with Oliver in tow, had collapsed in a flurry of limbs and sand, his superhuman ability rendered powerless upon reaching the border.

There hadn't been time to theorize as to why, Oliver instead ordering Barry off the island. "I can still help you!" Barry had argued.

"No offense, Barry, but you'll only slow me down now." He hadn't waited for his response.

The compound consisted of a dozen or so dilapidated buildings, once serving as apartment complexes, grocery stores, and restaurants to the island's 5,000 occupants in the 1950's. A few of the structures had since collapsed in on the themselves, littering the ground with concrete and rusted rebar; the rest were overgrown with vegetation crawling up the walls and into the windows, where some furniture could still be seen through the open gaps.

For half a century it had remained a ghost island, eerily harboring the remains of a once bustling civilization. Oliver nearly ran right into a child's tricycle, in the last second jumping over where it stood on a cracked sidewalk, as if its owner vanished suddenly during his afternoon play.

Among the ruins, five buildings stood out in stark contrast from the rest. They were obviously newer than the rest, structurally sound, and had electricity operational throughout. They were of various shapes and sizes situated in the center of the island. The northern most building was larger than the rest and several stories high, Oliver guessed that it served as a sort of housing unit for the unknown population residing there now. The building in the dead center of them all was smaller in area, but at least 400 feet taller than the others. It reminded Oliver of a cross between a light house and a prison watch tower. That was Oliver's goal, having assumed it served as the base's eyes and ears.

His approach was hidden under cover of darkness as he halted, placing his back flush against the wall of one of the smaller adjacent buildings to scan the area. A clicking sound was heard behind him and he turned to see an armed guard lighting a cigarette as he rounded a corner. Oliver silently made his way to the man, who stood facing the black line of water extending past the beach. Oliver grabbed his rifle from where it rested against his side attached by a strap on his arm and pinned it across the man's throat, subsequently restricting his right arm by the strap.

"Where's Felicity Smoak?!" he growled through the modulator. The guard gurgled and coughed, dropping his cigarette at his feet as he reached to relieve some of the pressure at his throat. Oliver tightened his hold. "Answer me!"

Coughing again he barely managed to breathe out his response. "Watch…tower." Oliver then relieved him of consciousness, catching the brunt of his weight before letting him hit the ground. He dragged his body further into the shadows, ridding him of his weapons before moving back to check on the clearing.

Deciding it was now or never, he sprinted across the most exposed area of the island, reaching the side door and using the guard's magnetic key card to gain entrance.

Inside was pitch black, Oliver drew his bow and waited for his eyes to adjust. He was just barely able to make out another door immediately in front of him, which he opened to reveal a circular room. The familiar humming of computer processors reached his ears as he entered the room, alit by the bank of screens lining the circumference of the area.

Oliver approached one of them cautiously, hoping a cursory glance might determine the nature of the ongoing programs. He leaned in closer, bow dipping forward slightly with him, and heard the light footfall behind him a second too late. Followed by a voice that simultaneously halted whatever defensive maneuvers he would have mounted and froze his heart on the spot.

"You have a gun pointed at the base of your skull. You so much as flinch and I'll pull the trigger."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **My sincerest apologies for the ridiculously long delay. We're getting very close to the ending of this story. I'm still shocked and overwhelmed by the amount of support it has received thus far. I do _not_ want to disappoint any of you, so I'm working hard to deliver the satisfying conclusion you all deserve. As always, thank you for giving me the motivation to go forward with not only this story, but other works I've dreamed up.

You guys are the best! XOXO

And now onto the chapter I think you've all been waiting for since day 1 :)

* * *

"You have a gun pointed at the base of your skull. You so much as flinch and I'll pull the trigger."

At first the words didn't register within Oliver, so distracted was he by the voice speaking them. Hearing the voice in his ears was like breaching the surface of an impossibly deep abyss just when he was sure he'd drowned. As such, he took an involuntary deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen that seemed to heal him from the inside out.

The relief was impalpable. He let it wash over him for an immeasurable amount of time before his brain finally caught up with not only what had been said, but the _way_ in which it was said.

The tone used was wrong somehow, that fact throwing him more than the actual words themselves. It didn't match up with the voice he remembered. For even when angry, as she had been the last he'd heard it, her voice had a natural warmth to it. The voice behind him was cold and calculated and threatening his life at the moment.

"Drop the bow. Slowly. And kick it away," the voice demanded. When he didn't immediately move he felt cold steel press into the back of his neck. "DO IT!"

He had the obvious advantage. Had it been anyone else, he would have seized the opportunity as soon as he felt the tremors in the hand holding the gun to his neck; it would have been easy enough, turning to knock away the amateurish hold on the weapon, disarm, and lock in a choke-hold, all in one swift movement.

But this wasn't anyone else, so he did as the voice commanded. Even going so far as to raise his hands in surrender once kicking the bow away from him. He was a sucker for that voice. Always had been.

Oliver only had about a hundred thousand different things swirling around in his mind that wanted to get out all at once, but in the end, only two words emerged: "It's me."

The gun was pulled away from his skin and his heart began pounding so loudly he was certain she could hear it. Or maybe it had been pounding that way the entire time and he just hadn't notice until now, until he knew he was just seconds away from seeing her, touching her face, kissing her hair, holding her…

"Yes, it's you. _The Arrow_. Starling City's own masked vigilante, here in the flesh. I've read about you of course. You're pretty popular among the guys here. Not like THAT. Well, I guess it could be, for some. I don't know. I mean, I have had my suspicions about a few…" She paused, and Oliver could imagine the countdown from 3, 2, 1. "Anyway, the point is _you're heeeere." _

Oliver couldn't help the smile that formed as she spoke, hearing some of _his_ girl coming out. But it was still off somehow.

"I think it's sweet how you thought you made it in here undetected. But I've had eyes on you since you stepped foot onto the beach. Where you just sort of…materialized out of nothing. I could've sounded the alarm then, but what can I say? I've always been too curious for my own good. I had to know. Had to ask you myself."

She circled widely around as she spoke and stopped a couple of yards in front of him, gun still trained at his chest. The weapon was forgotten though because he was too distracted by the sight of Felicity Smoak, his girl-Wednesday, alive and safe, standing not ten feet away from him. Oliver's eyes stung with unexpected tears which he quickly blinked away in order to fully appreciate the sight.

Her blonde ponytail was gone, replaced by curly brown locks falling just above her shoulders and tucked behind jewelry-free ears. She wore no make-up, her cheeks and nose decorated by freckles he was positive hadn't been there before. A hint of a tan lined her face and neck, but everything else was covered. Black long sleeved T-shirt. Loose green cargo pants. Brown military-style boots that appeared way too large for her feet.

It was all wrong. No colors. No skin. No tight clothing hugging her every curve. No glasses.

But still she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Despite all the differences, Felicity was still there. In the blue of her eyes. In the tilt of her head. In her perfectly shaped pink lips that remained slightly open as she stared back at him in confusion. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"You don't know?" She responded by poking her head forward and raising an open hand out beside her. A gesture he recognized as her way of saying _seriously? _Or _duh._

He saw it then, the unfamiliarity with which she looked at him, the crease of her brow that appeared whenever a puzzle was particularly frustrating to her. She truly didn't know.

And that meant that Felicity didn't know him.

He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him; the oxygen that had just soothed him moments ago rushing out in one fell swoop. With what little he had left, he managed a single word. "You."

Her head snapped back into place, clearly taken aback by his answer. "Come again."

He forced another deep breath. "I'm here for you, Felicity."

Oliver poured three months' worth of desperation and longing into that one statement, but it might have been more than that. A year, two, however long it had been since he'd walked into Felicity's office and she turned his world upside down with one tilt of her head. In his voice, he heard every fear, every hope, every ounce of love he felt for the woman in front of him. He heard it all just as clearly as those five words.

He had no way of knowing if she heard it too, but her mouth formed an O shape upon his admission, eyes searching his for some further confirmation. Oliver was instantly reminded of the night he'd told her that he loved her in the mansion, when she'd expressed the very same combination of shock and awe. She had to be seeing the truth of his words now, both spoken and not, just as she had that night.

The door behind her flew open, interrupting whatever she was about to say. Oliver lunged, grabbing the gun from her with one hand and using the other to shove her partially behind him. She let out a startled yelp at the sudden action. With his right arm wrapped securely around her torso, he positioned himself between her and the man at the door who stood gaping at the gun now trained on him.

"Don't!" Felicity cried, gripping his arm with both of her small hands.

The man raised his arms and took a careful step into the room. "Please. Don't hurt her. I'm the one you want."

"I'm not going to hurt her. And you're not the one I want," Oliver replied, thankful he'd actually thought to turn the modulator on as soon as the door had opened.

"I'm in charge of this facility," the man argued. Recognition dawned on Oliver. Twenty years had altered his appearance significantly. Deep lines decorated his forehead and crinkled around his eyes. The wild brown hair was completely gone. The large, thick-rimmed glasses had been replaced by small, frameless lenses.

"Alan Smoak?"

He took another step forward causing Oliver to tighten the grip he had on both the gun and Felicity.

"Haven't heard that name in years," he answered, smiling wistfully. "Looks like you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

"It's _him_. It's the Arrow," Felicity told him a little breathlessly. Alan's eyes widened, darting between Felicity and Oliver. He lowered his arms and broke out into a large smile, which did nothing to calm Oliver's nerves. In fact, it may have even made them worse.

"The Arrow? _The_ Arrow," Alan repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm a huge fan of your work! Truly. Taking on the corrupt armed with nothing but a bow and your wits. You're an inspiration!"

He closed the distance between them, stepping around Oliver's discarded bow as he did so, which he regarded with a jovial laugh before stretching out his hand toward Oliver. "It's an honor to meet you."

Oliver was too stunned to do anything other than stare warily at the hand between them. Seconds ticked by and Alan's smile dimmed, though not altogether disappearing.

"Well if you can't shake my hand, would you kindly do me the favor of _un_handing my daughter?"

It was a simple enough request, but Oliver found the idea of releasing Felicity unendurable. But he also didn't like the idea of harming anyone in order to get out of this place either, especially her father. With that thought, he reluctantly loosened his fingers from their hold on her hip. His arm, however, remained held in place across her middle by the tight grip she still had on it.

Alan lowered his eyes to her hands. She caught on and let go (and was Oliver only imagining the hesitancy there?), before stepping away to stand next to Alan. Oliver hadn't the words to describe the hurt he felt in seeing that simple movement. Her father smiled in approval before fixing it once again on Oliver.

"You're a long way from home," he pointed out conversationally, completely ignoring the gun still pointed at his chest.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Smoak."

"On the contrary, this place," he opened his arms, indicating the area around them. "This _is_ home. And please call me Mordecai. That's what I go by around here."

"Home isn't a place, Mordecai," Oliver countered, allowing venom to layer the way in which he spoke his 'name.' "Home is people. The ones that love you. The ones like your wife and daughter that you abandoned. Like the ones you ripped Felicity away from."

The smile vanished from Alan's face, replaced by a hard set of his mouth as he considered his response. "Felicity chose to be here with me."

"Did she also choose to forget her life in Starling? To forget who she was?" _To forget me?_ Oliver locked eyes with Felicity who'd been watching him intently, eyebrows furrowed. "What did he do to you?"

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" He roared at Alan when she didn't respond, pushing the gun closer to his chest. Felicity jumped at the outburst.

Alan, for his part, remained calm, casting his eyes to the floor and shaking his head. "That woman knows no bounds," he muttered.

Felicity laid a hand on his shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"This is new," he replied dejectedly. "Waller's resorted to attacking the heart. Isn't that right?" He looked up to fire the accusation at Oliver.

"You work for Amanda Waller?" A range of emotions flashed across Felicity's face. Anger. Fear. Revulsion. All typical responses to Waller's name. But one emotion stood out among the rest, causing Oliver's heart to sink. Disappointment. Because he knew that look all too well. He'd never wanted to be at the receiving end of her disappointment again.

"I do not work for Amanda Waller," he directed at Felicity. "I don't work for anyone-"

"You expect me to believe that A.R.G.U.S. didn't lead you here?" It was Alan who asked, but Felicity waited for the answer.

"A.R.G.U.S. may have supplied me with the coordinates, but I'm not here on their agenda. I don't care about what you're doing here."

Alan laughed humorlessly, drawing Oliver's eyes to him. "You obviously don't know Waller very well if you believe that she'd give you something that doesn't somehow serve her purposes. She doesn't just offer something freely. There's always an ulterior motive! Always an agenda! And you've made yourself a pawn."

"She's trying to stop your work again," Felicity guessed. Oliver's frustration was growing by the second. He'd had enough.

"Listen to me," he ordered, using what had once been dubbed his growly voice. "I'm not a part of an agenda. I'm not here for A.R.G.U.S. Or for Waller. Or even for you," he indicated to Alan. "I don't care about the work you're doing here. Or why you think it's important. Or why the government is so curious about it. I don't know whether you sit at those desks writing malware or sending spam emails; whether you're building smarter computers or building bombs! I don't want to know!

"The _only _reason I came here was to find Felicity and bring her home," Oliver finished ardently. An awkward silence followed, Felicity staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face and Alan silently fuming.

"We're not sending spam. We're software engineers, not monsters," she eventually mumbled defensively. Alan took a step to the side, putting Felicity behind him and squaring off with Oliver.

"Hate to disappoint you, but Felicity already is home," he said just as both doors to the room opened bringing in four armed guards. From the looks of them, they were definitely not computer geeks. Oliver whipped his head across the room, mentally calculating his odds. He would have probably taken the chance, no doubt that he could have at least taken two of them out successfully, but there were no guarantees against casualties.

That's not what stopped him from reacting though. It was Felicity, standing in the center of it all, watching the scene unfold in terrified clarity. He wouldn't have her in the crosshairs, and couldn't have her first memory of him to be as a murderer. He took his hand off the trigger and pointed his hands and the weapon toward the ceiling in surrender.

"And because you're trespassing on our home, I have the right to defend it," Alan added. The guards started moving. Oliver paid them no mind, instead fixing frantic eyes on Felicity, willing her to understand.

"Remember me!" he urged, just as one of the guards stepped behind him. Oliver felt a blinding pain on the back of his head and fell forward onto the ground, committing her tear-filled eyes to memory before sinking into the dark abyss.

* * *

Consciousness hit Oliver with full force, jolting him up, his body already preparing to defend itself. After a quick scan of his immediate surroundings, awareness of his current situation settled in.

He'd awoken in a cell positioned in a corner of a larger room. Three of the cell's four sides were solid wall with the one in front, facing the open area of the room, made up of vertical bars. The fact that Alan had thought to put in a holding cell in his compound said a lot about the man's character, but Oliver didn't want to read into that much at the moment.

Oliver was laid up on a cot, his legs stretched out in front of his now seated position. Footsteps on the other side of one of the solid walls had him turning his head to the sound just in time to see a guard coming into view in front of the bars before exiting the room without glancing behind him.

Pain seared through his head and neck at the sudden movement. He reached up to rub the spot that had been hit only to find that his hood was still up. His mask and gloves were still in place, too. He was still staring at his hands when the door opened once again.

In walked Felicity, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor as she closed the door behind her and approached the cell with a tray of food. He watched, unmoving from his position on the cot, while she disappeared from view and lifted a small panel on the solid wall and slid the tray through before closing it again. Oliver waited for her to reappear around the wall again, rising from the cot to approach the bars when that didn't happen.

She came into view the closer he got to the right side of the bars. She sat cross-legged on the ground, her back resting against the corner of the solid wall. When he could go no further, he rested his forehead against the cold metal to better his partial view of the right half of her body.

"You've created quite the buzz around here," she told him from her spot on the floor. "Word is that we'll probably have to relocate soon, before your buddy Amanda mounts your rescue."

Oliver lowered himself down against the wall opposite her, pulling his knees up and leaning his shoulder against the bars. From this vantage point, his view was more obstructed than he would've liked, but he could see that she had her head down, hair falling forward as she twirled an object around in her hands. It was one of his arrows.

"There won't be any rescue." He hadn't thought about how that statement might affect his current status as prisoner, but at this point, he didn't care. "And Waller is _not_ my buddy."

"So you said. But how can I know that's not a lie?" she asked, turning her head slightly toward him. "How could you expect me to trust you?"

Her soft, musing voice held no malice. It sounded so much like it had in one of their earliest conversations when she'd given him Walter's book of names, expressing her unmerited trust in him. A conversation that had ultimately changed the trajectory of their entire relationship, opening the door for the partnership that'd soon be forged.

A conversation Felicity had now forgotten.

"Because you did before. Even though I'd done nothing to deserve it at first. You trusted your instincts," he answered, hoping that was the case now.

"I can't really trust my instincts anymore. Not since the accident," she whispered, causing Oliver to lean forward.

"What accident?" he asked anxiously.

"I got hit by a car, or so they tell me," she answered, letting out a short laugh. "I was in a coma for three weeks. When I woke up, everything was a jumbled mess up here," she circled her hand around her head. "My father filled me in on what he could, but there are still so many gigantic gaps. I'm talking Grand Canyon sized holes.

"And the _instincts_, feelings I have… well most of them don't make a lick of sense. For instance, I'm deathly afraid of heights. I have no clue _how_ I know that, or why, but it's there. Along with a recurring nightmare of falling off a building. Which I guess might be common, I don't know. But other things seem pretty specific to just me. Like being afraid of Kangaroos. Or like how I hate the smell of bacon. More than hate actually, I can't stand it. If I'm in a room with someone who's been around bacon within the last six hours, I have to leave. Weird stuff like that, stuff I know has to stem from _something_.

"My father told me that he had to leave me when I was very young. He didn't have to tell me though, because even though I don't remember it, I can still feel it every time I look at him. It's just a hurt I can't explain. I have a mother, too. Or had, I don't know. I don't remember her enough to miss her, but I still dream about her often."

She broke off suddenly, letting out a self-conscious laugh and breaking the trance her trail of thought had put Oliver in. "So you see why my instincts are a little untrustworthy these days."

"Actually, I think your instincts are the only things you can trust right now," he argued.

"You're saying my father is a liar."

"I'm saying that some gaps he wanted to leave unfilled, others he couldn't have helped you with even if he wanted to."

"Such as?" She focused on the floor to her right, giving Oliver a better view of her face.

"Such as the things he couldn't know about you. Such as how you discovered your fear of heights when you stood in an elevator shaft, eleven stories up. Jumping out a couple of high-rise windows and an airplane since then really didn't help either," he smiled to himself, recalling her paralyzing fear on the elevator and the inappropriate joke that had escaped as a result. "And the reason why you can't stand bacon is because you went to school smelling like it for a long time when your mother was obsessed with it. It was right after your dad left. Your memories may be gone right now, Felicity," _but they'd come back. They _had_ to come back_. "But your heart is still there. It's your heart that misses your mother. And she misses you, too."

Felicity's head whipped all the way toward him then, eyes wide as she stared through the bars. "Do you know my mother?"

Oliver smiled. "We had breakfast together a couple weeks ago. She fixed me bacon." He watched her reaction closely, saw her mouth open slightly as her brain tried to formulate an image to what he'd described. He was satisfied that she didn't seem altogether disbelieving.

"I know you, too," he continued, gripping one of the bars with his right hand and using it to pull his body closer to Felicity. "I know that you can't be satisfied with Mordecai's half-truths. That you know, in your heart, that something isn't right here. Your instincts are telling you to trust me right now, just as they did when we first met, even before you had any logical reason to. I know who you are, Felicity Smoak. For weeks, _months_, we have searched for you. Your friends, your family – we couldn't give up.

"I had to find you. And now here you are, looking at me like you don't know me, probably thinking I've lost my damn mind, but it's the opposite. I've found you. And I will **not** lose you again."

Felicity gaped at him; her expression again one of wonderment, yet not disbelief. Oliver took this as a good sign, scooting even closer to her. At some point, she had angled her entire body toward him, her hands resting flat against the floor in front of the cell, face peering through one of the gaps.

They were only inches apart now, the bar between them notwithstanding. Oliver quickly removed one of his gloves and slowly, cautiously, reached his arm through the bars, judging her reaction as he did so. She looked wary, but not worried, continuing to search his eyes for some unnameable truth. His hand paused just before making contact with her face, giving her one last chance to stop him.

And then he was touching the smooth skin over her cheekbone with just his fingertips, trailing down to her jaw with the lightest of pressure and stopping just beneath her parted lips. Oliver felt her breath hitch on his fingertips and he was momentarily distracted by her mouth, eyes lingering there for several moments before cupping the side of her small face with his right hand. She leaned into it ever so slightly and Oliver stopped breathing, his gloved hand tightening on the bar it held.

Seconds passed by, or it could have been hours, he wasn't sure. Time ceased to exist as he held Felicity's face in his hand, gently rubbing his thumb across her skin.

"I don't even know who you are," she eventually whispered, closing her eyes and breaking their connection. She pulled away from him, leaving Oliver's hand floating in the space next to her.

"You do," he replied, withdrawing his hand. "You know me better than anyone."

Oliver watched as she chewed on the inside of her lip worriedly for several seconds, an expression he recognized as her don't-bother-me-I'm-thinking face. He waited until her mouth set into a hard line, meeting his eyes as her brain came up with a verdict.

"You have to leave," she told him with sudden urgency. "Get out of here before it's too late. It's not-"

The door opened behind her, sending Felicity jumping away from him. Alan stood in the doorway, a disapproving but not altogether surprised expression on his face as he took in their proximity.

"I need the room," he announced, moving to hold the door wider open. Felicity hesitated for only a second before gathering herself off of the floor and leaving the room without another glance Oliver's way. His heart constricted when he lost sight of her, missing her presence almost immediately. Alan closed the door behind her, keeping his back to Oliver for several moments.

Oliver scooted back to rest against the solid wall again, drawing his knee up and laying his arm across it in a show of comfort. When Alan didn't speak, he decided to start with the simplest of the curiosities on his mind. "You didn't take off my mask."

"A man's identity is his alone. Whether or not he reveals it is his choice," he answered, turning to face Oliver. "I've no interest in unveiling you here. It must be difficult though, keeping track of where the Arrow ends and your true self begins," he mused.

"I guess you would know, _Mordecai_."

"Mordecai is my true self now. You're still relatively new to this, so you haven't yet learned that a man can't live by two names. Sooner or later a choice has to be made."

Oliver _had_ heard that before, and he'd even once thought it to be true. "You've taken away Felicity's choice."

"No," Alan disagreed, dragging over a nearby chair to sit facing Oliver. "I took away the thing preventing her from making the _right_ choice."

"Her memories?! Everything that made her who she is-"

"YOU!" he yelled, voice echoing off the metal surfaces surrounding them. "_You_. Her unhealthy entanglement to you. Can you imagine what it felt like to learn that _my_ daughter – who graduated with top honors from MIT – was working at Tech Village?" He practically seethed the name in disgust. "No, I saved her from the life of mediocrity you condemned her to."

"And now you have the loyalty and devotion you always wanted from her. What is that worth if not given of her own free will?" Oliver countered, standing to his feet.

Alan laughed, a disturbingly manic sound. "Free will," he repeated, shaking his head in amusement. "Free will is a luxury provided to those born without purpose. You know this. How much of your life has been governed by 'free will' since picking up that bow?"

Hating how close to the truth it sounded, Oliver didn't respond. Alan smiled when he knew his point had been made, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms as he regarded Oliver.

"I was 12 years old when I saw my first computer," he began, eyes taking on a far-off look. "My father had been given two seats to the International Computer Communication Conference in D.C. at the last minute. He and I drove down just in time to see Bob Kahn's demonstration of what was then called ARPANET.

"It was… unbelievable. I watched, frozen in my seat with the hundreds of others in attendance as this massive machine successfully received a data transmission from a similar piece of technology across the country. My future was decided right then and there.

"I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been had I not been there, had I not seen this technological feat with my own eyes." Alan's eyes drifted around the room unfocused, as if imagining this altered version of history.

"Which I very easily could have missed had the incalculable number of events not aligned in perfect order to put me in that audience. Had John Foster and his wife decided to eat in the night before, thus avoiding the Thai restaurant that would give them food poisoning, and allowing them to fill their seats at the conference. Or had my mother taken the car that evening as she normally did on Monday Bunco nights, which she would have if not for Margery Buchanan giving her a lift. Marge was driving through our neighborhood anyway, you see, a detour that wouldn't have been necessary had she remembered to drop off the booster club money to the treasurer that afternoon in school." He let out an amused breath of air before meeting Oliver's eyes again.

"I could go on and on, but I think you understand my meaning. Such minute, trivial details that at the surface seem inconsequential, but remove just one, change one decision, make one wrong turn, and you alter the path we're on now astronomically. What does the present look like in the version of reality where I never attended the I.C.C.C.? It's a fun game we humans like to play, the overwhelming connotations derived from two very simple words: what and if. But the truth is even more baffling than that, I'm afraid. People like us – men burdened with destiny – understand that this life has been determined by so much more than chance. Destiny finds her way. Even if I hadn't seen that demonstration in 1972, I still would have met my purpose down the road somehow. Even if you hadn't boarded the Queen's Gambit that day, the Arrow would've found you another way." Alan paused and cocked his head to the side, letting it sink in that he knew Oliver's identity.

"And even though Felicity fell in love with you, her purpose will likewise still be met. We cannot change Fate's design, no matter how much we wish we could."

Oliver's hands were twitching at his sides as he listened to Alan's self-righteous testimony, overwhelmed with the lunacy of it all. "I might be inclined to agree with you if your actions hadn't taken Felicity's fate into your own hands. Who are you to decide that she wasn't where she was _supposed_ to be?"

"HER FATHER!" Alan bellowed, rising out of his chair. "As her father I went to certain lengths to ensure that her purpose was met. I wouldn't see that wasted by her absurd infatuation with you!" He began pacing the length of the room in front of the cell, agitatedly rubbing his hands together.

"I have plans, you see," he continued. "Something I've been preparing for a long time. I'm very close to setting those plans in motion, and changing the world yet again. But I can't do that without Felicity. She's an instrumental piece in all this and I will not, WILL NOT, allow you to come in here and manipulate her feelings."

Oliver darted forward, gripping the bars and mentally cursing the barrier between him and Alan's neck. "You are the one who's manipulated her feelings! She's just a pawn to you. Do you even love her?! Are you even capable of those feelings anymore?"

Alan narrowed his eyes at Oliver's outburst. His mouth formed a grim line as he approached the bars, keeping just out of arm's length, much to Oliver's chagrin.

"You don't seem like someone who does a lot of reading of religious texts, so you probably aren't familiar with the Jewish historical figure Mordecai. Although even if you were one to subscribe to the teachings of the _Tanahk_ or the Bible, you might still be less familiar with Mordecai than you would his niece, Hadassah, who's more commonly known as Esther.

"Mordecai was, _is_, after all, only a figure in her story – the Book of _Esther_ – though without him, without his strategic planning in the background of events, setting his beloved niece in a position to appeal to the King's sympathies and heart, the Jewish people would have been all but annihilated. Mordecai put her on the path to her destiny, telling her that she was made for such a time as this. And she did it, she saved her people.

"You see, some are destined for greatness, for their names to be remembered through the ages for their heroism and bravery. Others, though purposed for no less greater, are meant to remain in the shadows of a much bigger name."

It was impossible, listening to Alan speak, to not see how he'd managed to gain a legion of loyal followers. He spoke with authority and firm conviction of his beliefs, which Oliver could see how it might sway weak-minded individuals to his cause. And if that failed, he always had his brain-washing techniques, or whatever he'd used on Felicity, to fall back on.

"What exactly are you planning, Alan?" Oliver asked pointedly, growing tired of Alan's history lessons.

"I'm going to save the people. By restoring the freedom that was lost; by taking the power away from those who cannot handle it. They're going to hang from the gallows of their own making," he answered, smiling slightly at his own cleverness.

"Just like Haman," Oliver responded quietly, referring to the king's advisor in the Book of _Esther_ who plotted against Mordecai and the Jews. He was expecting the surprised look from Alan and he did not disappoint, eyebrows rising into his forehead before letting out an amused snort. He pointed his index finger at Oliver. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Let me leave," Oliver demanded firmly, ignoring Alan's amusement. "Let me take Felicity. Carry out whatever righteous destiny you've ordained, do whatever you have to do. I won't stop you. All I want is her."

The smile left Alan's face abruptly. "You're in no position to negotiate, my friend. You will get to see it all come to fruition though. Your unexpected arrival has escalated my timeline, but it's no matter," he spoke while moving toward the door. He rapped his knuckles on the glass twice which was immediately followed by the entrance of five guards. "Are you ready to watch me change the world?"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: So... Yes. I'm still alive. As is this story! I got caught up in my own novel and just sort of put this on the back burner. I'm so so sorry. I hope this chapter makes up for it in some ways.

I want to thank you all again for your investment in this story, for giving me the courage to move forward in my writing.

*happy tears* Y'all are wonderful.

XOXO

* * *

Oliver sized the men up through the bars, noting each of the weapons on their respective person. He took a step back, showing his willingness to comply. The cell door opened and the closest guard to it stepped inside to secure cuffs around Oliver's wrists.

He was then led down a myriad of halls, mentally keeping count of all the people they passed on their way. When Alan took a door at the end of the hall, harsh rays of sunlight flooded the area, momentarily blindsiding Oliver. It was already midday, he realized anxiously. The seconds were ticking away on Waller's deadline. He had to get Felicity off of this island, and fast.

Oliver kept a comfortable distance between Alan and himself as he followed the man across the open area between buildings, furtively glancing around the now sunlit compound. He counted thirteen inhabitants roaming about the base in addition to the eight he'd passed inside, not including the five bodies shadowing him currently.

He wondered how many were merely hired guns versus Mordecai devotees; if more were in it for the money, he might find unlikely allies with those more concerned with avoiding the desolation of Battleship Island (which is how he'd been mentally referring to it). On the other hand, if they were actually committed to the "cause" or worse – brainwashed - they might all be more than willing to go down with the ship alongside its captain.

The posse approached the watchtower and Oliver was ushered inside the circle room once again. This time the area was abuzz with activity. Personnel filled it - each performing unknown tasks at various workstations - but Oliver's eyes immediately landed on Felicity where she sat completely in her element at one of the computers. If she'd noticed their arrival, she didn't show it, so entranced was she by the screen in front of her.

In fact they all were, as had been the dozens of others he'd seen on the base – completely focused on the work at hand that there was no way to know the inherent danger they were all in. Brainwashed or not, these people must still possess the instinctual will to live. At least, Oliver hoped as much.

"Listen to me," Oliver announced to the room. When only Felicity turned toward his voice, he repeated it louder. "You're all in danger. A.R.G.U.S. knows where you are. They're going to take out this entire island very soon. You need to evacuate. _Now._"

Around the room, there was a collective lack of reaction to Oliver's warning. Alan - who'd had a hand resting atop one of the desks while reading over its computer screen - straightened slowly, clapping the shoulder of the young Indian man sitting there in approval before turning toward Oliver. His face was unconcerned.

"I'm serious, Alan. Mordecai," Oliver corrected. "I'm guessing I've been here, what, 13 hours? Four hours before that Amanda Waller told me they'd be sending a missile to this location. That leaves you more than enough time to pack up and leave. Get your people out of here," he urged, growing anxious.

"Actually, son, you have your time table a little wrong. A.R.G.U.S. is prepping their missile for launch now. Set to deploy in," he dramatically raised his arm to read his watch face. "20 minutes."

Black spots entered Oliver's vision as the blood rushed from his head. "How long have I been here?" he asked solemnly.

"Just over six hours." The answer came from Oliver's right, where Felicity regarded him with sympathetic eyes from the chair she'd swiveled to face him. He met her gaze, unwilling to accept the revelation.

"I guess Waller wasn't being entirely truthful with you," Alan stated. He sounded smug, pleased even with that fact. Oliver's hands twitched in the cuffs in front of him, fingers aching for an arrow to drive through his heart.

"Then why are you still here?" Oliver seethed, tearing his eyes away from Felicity before she could see the murderous glint behind them.

"Do you really think one missile concerns me?" Alan asked with a laugh. "Look around you at what I've built. Look at what I've done. That missile is only able to launch thanks to computer commands that _I_ developed; can only find its intended target thanks to tracking algorithms that _I_ wrote! I'll be able to change its trajectory the second it launches. That missile, and all of A.R.G.U.S. for that matter, belongs to me!"

The god-complex was not lost on Oliver. "The world will be at the mercy of whoever possesses the smartest computer," he quoted, meeting Alan's half-crazed eyes. Alan's features changed, recognizing his words from Oliver. He approached and squared off with him, despite the difference in height. "And I knew it would be me even when I wrote that," Alan replied low enough for only Oliver to hear. "You think you know me because you can quote my thesis? Would you like to guess to where I'll be retargeting the missile?"

The sounds of the surrounding room muted at Mordecai's whispered threat. Oliver didn't have to guess, he knew with sickening assurance what he intended. "You should have never left Starling City."

Oliver stared at the man before him in shock. Of all the judgments he'd made against Felicity's father, he'd never considered him capable of mass murder. "The people of Starling aren't a threat to you! Don't do this."

Alan sneered, no traces of his earlier jovial demeanor remaining, "No one is a threat to me. And I'm not doing this. A.R.G.U.S. and Amanda Waller are." He turned away to once again glance over a nearby work station, peering above the rims of his glasses at the coding displayed on the screen. "It's unfortunate, I'll admit. I never intended for this to happen, but it'll actually turn out to be just the catalyst I need. Happy accidents can lead to perfect timing," Alan said, throwing Oliver a wink over his shoulder. Oliver made to move toward him, his body reacting on its own accord with his mind only catching up when two sets of hands firmly clamped down on his shoulders.

"Just after the rest of the world receives word that Starling City has been attacked, global communications will go dark. Any and all devices linked to an outside network will be rendered useless – phones, computers, tablets, cars, planes, TVs, you name it! The world insisted on having the internet at their fingertips, staking their entire lives on its functionality. A World Wide Web they've constructed bit by bit, taking them to new heights, expanding their limitless scopes... but everything has limits – a beginning and an end. And now they'll look back on this web they've built only to find they've entangled themselves in a snare of their own making, offered as the meal to the spider that not only knows the ins and outs and limits of the entire design, but calls it _home._" Alan paused, his own words seeming to surprise him. "Pretty damn poetic, don't you think?"

But Oliver's mind was reeling. Could he really have the means to send the whole world into a blackout? "It's a virus. That's what you've been working on all this time? Improving, _creating_, a computer-based world just so you can be the one to tear it down?" Oliver asked, sneaking a glance at Felicity, whose wide eyes darted around the room's work stations, a mixture of disbelief and terror marking her expression.

"I consider it more of an anti-viral cocktail – cleansing the world of the deadly disease they willfully contracted. I'm _saving_ them with this! I call it 'Hadassah,'" he spoke the name as a father who's proudly introducing his daughter, causing Oliver's gut to twist in disgust.

"You said Hadassah was just a pet project." Felicity could apparently hold her tongue no longer. She stood from her chair to move closer to Alan. "A last resort, if worse comes to worse, and ALL else fails type of thing! You can't level an entire city full of innocent people. That's not who you are! Hadassah isn't even finished yet. You told me that." She gripped Alan's arm as she spoke, forcing him to face her. Oliver could see in her face that she wanted it all to be some kind of misunderstanding, wanted the father she still looked at with trust to set her mind at ease. He was also fairly certain she hadn't seen the look of disdain and outright contempt which had flashed across Alan's face as he turned toward her. But Oliver had, and his hands clinched into fists in front of him at the sight.

"I didn't lie to you, Felicity. Hadassah is not finished. But I couldn't tell you that she was the ultimate goal because I doubted, and it seems rightfully so, your resolve."

"Of course I'm not on board for this!" she exclaimed. "It's mass murder. Initiating Hadassah is one thing, but this… stop the launch and let's just leave. You can finish the program somewhere else, somewhere safer," she pleaded, voice firm and as unyielding as Oliver remembered.

"I'm finishing it right here, right now. There's only one final piece."

"What's that?" she asked him worriedly. Alan locked eyes with two of the guards across the room briefly before raising a hand to touch her cheek. "You," he answered at the same time the men began moving toward her.

They hadn't completed their first step before Oliver threw his elbow into the gut of the man flanking his left. The guard on his other side didn't have time to react before Oliver whipped his enclosed fists across his jaw, catching the rifle he released and slamming its butt against the left guard's temple. He tossed the rifle in the air again, catching the handle in his still cuffed hands and letting the back portion rest on his forearm, and trained the weapon on the approaching guards.

Felicity had barely moved at all during the scuffle save for releasing Alan's arm and moving away from him to watch the scene unfold. The rest of the room's occupants watched, frozen in their seats. "Nobody move!" Olive yelled anyway, kicking the rifle away from the unconscious guard and toward Felicity. She planted a firm foot on top of the weapon, but didn't move to pick it up off of the floor. The guards on the other side of the room had pulled their side arms, but Felicity and Alan stood between them and Oliver.

His heart was pounding in his ears as precious seconds ticked by. "Everyone get on the floor. NOW!" he roared, causing several of the technicians to comply immediately.

"What's your plan?" Alan asked, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. "Any second now more of my men will come through that door. Are you going to cause a fire fight, one that will inevitably kill you and leave Felicity in the cross hairs?"

Oliver could plainly see the fear in her eyes as her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Then, surprising them all, she dipped to the ground to retrieve the gun at her feet in one fluid movement. The sudden action distracted the guards long enough for Oliver to send two bullets over Felicity's lowered frame into each of their arms, causing their guns to drop to the floor. Someone screamed, but the noise was drowned out by the spray of automatic gunfire coming from Felicity's hands.

The remaining seated technicians along with Alan dove to the floor as she fired upon the computers on the left side of the room. Oliver followed suit by taking out the ones on the other side. Sparks flew from the machines and smoke filled the room. He saw Felicity go down in his peripheral vision and rushed to where Alan was now wrestling the weapon from her hands. Oliver was about to plant a boot in his face when the door behind him burst open.

He managed to shoot the first two in the kneecaps before the third rushed him, knocking the precariously balanced weapon from his arm. Oliver head-butted him before thrusting his knee into the man's groin. Arms wrapped around him from behind, he threw his head back into the unseen assailant and rounded to finish him off when Alan's voice rose above the commotion. "Stop."

Felicity was on her knees in front of Alan, blood smeared across her quivering lip. A sight that would've had Oliver's hands around Alan's throat, cuffs be damned, if not for the gun he had trained at the back of her head. "You fool! All you succeeded in doing was ensure that the missile destroys this island. It won't stop Hadassah," he spat out, motioning the other guards forward with the gun. "Kill him."

"No! Oliver!" Felicity screamed, starting toward him before Alan's hand clamped down on her shoulder. Then she stilled, not because he had stopped her, but because she now wore the same stunned expression on her face as her father. Oliver hadn't told her his name. And judging by Alan's reaction, neither had he. She'd remembered it on her own. Her wide eyes met Oliver's in amazement.

"Wait," Alan spoke to the guards surrounding him. He considered Oliver for a weighted moment, something akin to unadulterated hate in his eyes. "I think I'd rather he behold the fruits of our labor first." A technician was busy setting up a laptop behind him. He instructed her to link directly to the satellite, as there was not time to breach A.R.G.U.S.'s mainframe security manually.

Oliver hadn't taken his eyes off of Felicity since she'd spoken his name. Until Alan's next command filled the room. "Hold her down." Panic overwhelmed Oliver. He shook off the holds on his arm and kicked a nearby shin hard enough to hear the bone shatter. A blow to the back of his neck sunk him to his knees, discombobulating his senses, but not making him lose consciousness. A knee in his back forced him to fall forward onto his chest. He managed to keep his head up though and found himself eye level with Felicity, whose own chin was propped against the floor as two men held her limbs down. Tears pricked at her eyes as she struggled against them to no avail. Oliver fought against the blurriness forming in his vision.

"This will only take longer if you struggle, baby. Relax. It will all be over soon." Alan's attempt at comfort fell flat on his lips as he opened a box of surgical tools beside him. He retrieved a scalpel and Oliver again attempted to rise. Several sets of hands held his limbs to the ground as another knee and 200 more pounds of weight was added to his back. "I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch! Do you hear me, Alan Smoak? I don't care who you are, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Felicity closed her eyes, tears spilling over and puddling on the floor in front of her face. Alan pressed his fingers along her shoulder before finding the intended spot and held his left thumb against it. He pointed the tip of the scalpel against her skin, drawing a whimper from Felicity's firmly set mouth, before driving it fully in. She screamed into the floor as Alan made the incision, a sound that was sure to haunt Olier for the rest of his life, however long that may be. He couldn't help it, he fought against the weight holding him down despite its futility. The knees in his back dug deeper, pinning his hands painfully underneath his body. He felt a pop and knew that his left wrist had just broken.

"Felicity, look at me. Look at me," he commanded, ignoring the searing pain in his wrist. She opened her slightly unfocused eyes at him. "Focus on me." Above her, Alan finished the incision and set the scalpel aside to retrieve an abnormally long pair of tweezers. "Focus on me, Felicity. Focus on my voice. Nothing else."

The tweezers dipped and she bit her lip to muffle the sob coursing through her. She kept her eyes open to him though, gaze now unwavering. "That's right. You're okay. We're okay." Oliver repeated the mantra several times before Alan leaned back on his heels, studying the small object held by the bloody tweezers in his hand. He dropped it in his other hand and wiped Felicity's blood away before holding it up in front of his face. "Hadassah," he crooned, showing what looked to be some time of SD card to the others around the room.

Alan rose and handed the card over to the girl at the laptop, who began thoroughly cleaning it. "I started writing her years ago, but I was limited," he explained, wiping his hands with a towel. "Limited by the current technology, and by the always watchful eyes of my employers. By the time I finished her, Waller was breathing down my neck and I didn't have the means to implement her into the global network. I was forced to hide her until I was ready. Until the world was ready."

"You hid a computer virus inside your own daughter." Oliver hadn't the appropriate description to put into words the level of his disgust. Felicity had laid her cheek against the concrete floor, breathing through her nose and out her mouth, no doubt fighting her body's urge to pass out.

"She was going under for oral surgery. I took my chance. The doc did a fine job, no harm was done. Not even a scar." Oliver recalled Donna's slightly embarrassed telling of her almost encounter with the ghost of Alan Smoak at the hospital. But he hadn't been there as a concerned father like she'd assumed. He'd been there to hide his most valued creation inside his conveniently knocked out teenage daughter.

Alan bent down next to Felicity and laid his hand against her hair. "It's all right, baby. The worst is over."

"Get your hand off me," Felicity demanded with a startlingly amount of life in her. Startling to Alan, but not so much to Oliver. That was his girl, the Felicity he knew and loved. Her arms now free, she slowly moved her hand toward her side, gripping the fabric of her pants.

Alan rose and moved toward the laptop once again. "Where are we?"

Oliver didn't hear the answer though because Felicity had discreetly removed an object from her pants pocket. She drew up her chin to meet his confused eyes. Moving her hands in front of her, she switched the mysterious object over to her right hand, gripping it firmly in her fist before bringing her free fingers to Oliver's eyes, shutting his lids. He sensed her sudden pivot onto her side before a flash turned the black of his closed eyes red, followed by several startled yells.

The weight on his back lifted and Oliver opened his eyes to see the familiar commotion that was the after effect of one of his flash grenades. He rolled, knocking the disoriented guard into the wall, and rounded to his feet. A collective state of panic filled the room as he scanned over the frantic occupants and through the smoke, looking for Felicity. He spotted her by the technician's laptop just when another guard aimed his pistol at her back. Oliver easily seized the gun from his outstretched hand and reared his elbow into his nose.

Felicity had pulled the laptop off of the desk and whipped it across Alan's face before running back to Oliver. "Let's go!" Apparently she was in charge now, so Oliver let her lead him out of the smoky disarray. She closed the door behind them, quickly entering a code into the keypad above the knob which seemed to lock it. He opened his mouth to point out that there were two doors to the room, but she was already rushing toward the exit.

They ran through the open area of the compound which was now seemingly deserted. With the sea now in view, she stopped abruptly on the other side of the building where he'd been held earlier. "Give me the gun," she ordered. When Oliver didn't immediately comply, instead fixing her with a blank stare, she grabbed the gun from his bound hands. Muttering something under her breath that sounded something like "chauvinist males," she tossed the laptop to the ground and fired three rounds into it before turning to him once more.

"Hold out your hands."

"Felicity-"

"If you like the cuffs that much I'll get you some later. And no, that wasn't kinky. Hold out your damn hands!"

Oliver did so, looking purposefully away as she positioned herself beside his arm and fired. He looked down at the severed link between the cuffs and back up at her in awe. "Not that you aren't any with your hands cuffed, but I figured this would be better," she explained quickly, turning to run again. "Again, NOT kinky," she called over her shoulder.

They had just reached the edge of the building when a guard rounded the corner, pointing his automatic rifle at Felicity. "Drop it!" he yelled. Oliver made to shove Felicity behind him, but the splintering sound of automatic weapons fire filled the air before he could get there. "NO!"

The guard's body convulsed violently as bullets whizzed through him, blood splaying out around him in an eerie halo of red before he collapsed at Felicity's feet. Oliver's heart was hammering in his chest as he moved in front of her, checking her frozen form for bullet holes. She shook her head to answer his unvoiced question – she hadn't been hit.

The young Indian technician that Oliver had seen in the control room earlier came into view. "We need to get off this island. Missile is en route!" He told him in a heavily accented voice. Not having the time to judge man's motives, the trio took off toward the beach. Oliver was surprised to see several motor boats already fleeing the island. It seemed some still had their good sense after all.

A bullet whizzed past Oliver's head, pelting into the sea wall in front of them. "DOWN!" The Indian man yelled, turning just as Oliver shoved Felicity to the ground, and took aim. He fired and Oliver saw a man drop from the watch tower roof.

"You're A.R.G.U.S.," Oliver deduced, pulling Felicity to her feet beside him.

"Not for much longer if we don't keep moving."

Only one boat remained tied to the small dock. They set off toward it, feet clamoring in chorus against the weathered wood. Felicity climbed in first, followed by their new friend who immediately went to work cranking up the engine. Oliver had just finished untying the rope that secured it to the dock when a voice cried out from the beach.

"WAIT! Felicty! Please wait!" Alan was yelling as he ran toward the dock. Oliver jumped into the boat, tossing the rope aside. The engine roared to life and Oliver turned to Felicity, who sat watching her father's approaching form. He made it to the dock when she spoke firmly. "Go."

"Felicity-" Oliver objected halfheartedly. He wanted nothing more than to leave Alan Smoak behind, but he was still her father.

"I said go!"

Their Indian A.R.G.U.S. friend obeyed, accelerating the boat away from Battleship Island. Felicity kept her eyes on Alan's ever-shrinking form as they distanced themselves from the dock. Oliver watched her carefully; no signs of remorse showed on her face. Finally she turned away.

The ripped fabric of her T shirt flapped in the wind, revealing the amateur incision in her shoulder and the cascade of blood upon her ivory skin. Hate rose within him once more at the sight. Oliver couldn't blame her for leaving Alan behind, and couldn't blame her for turning away then. But when he saw the missile flying overhead toward the island, Oliver turned around.

He'd watch for the both of them.

* * *

They rode in silence across the water as the destruction slowly disappeared behind them, until only the cloud of smoke emanating from the island was still visible. Oliver had cleaned Felicity's wound as best he could with no supplies. Her lack of physical or emotional response unnerved him, but he didn't dare ask her if she was okay.

That had always been the question he loathed the most after his return from Lian Yu. He could only assume it would bother her as well, now having undergone her own island, both literally and metaphorically. He continued watching her anyway, looking for any signs that she was about to break. But there was nothing. Only the tense set of her shoulders, the hard line of her closed mouth, and the deafeningly loud silence.

He had just begun to wonder what exactly their plan of action would be once reaching Japan's coast with no papers, passports, or IDs of any kind when she finally spoke.

"So…" she began awkwardly, causing Oliver to let out a relieved breath of air. "Do you ever take that mask off or is it permanently grafted into your skin?"

His answering smile was fleeting, as he was hyper-aware of the additional set of eyes in the small boat. Jai, who'd introduced himself after the explosion, kept his eyes scanning the surrounding water from his position at the motor.

"Don't stop on my account. I've known who you are for quite some time," he told Oliver, shrugging nonchalantly. At this point was there anyone who didn't know the Arrow's true identity, Oliver wondered and shook his head, amused. Apparently he was the exception to the _a-man-can't-live-by-two-names_ rule after all.

Felicity watched, intrigued, as he lowered his hood and removed the mask. He felt very exposed under her intrinsic gaze. Self-conscious as if he'd just stripped down naked in the boat rather than revealing only his face. "Huh," was all she said, leaving him frustrated.

"What?"

"What? Oh, nothing! It's nothing. I mean, it's not _nothing_. It's a good face, as far as faces go. Very good," she answered, looking down when her cheeks pinked slightly. "It's just that the mask, the hood…they don't make that much of a difference, do they? They don't really mask what's going on underneath."

He laughed at the deep layer of truth in her words. She tilted her head to the side, smiling slightly despite having missed the joke. "It's easier to hide from some more than others," he answered.

"Really."

He nodded, now studying her intently again. "Do you remember?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, no," she answered quickly, dropping her gaze.

"But you called my name. You took one of my flash grenades."

"I know," she admitted. "I can't explain it. It's almost like the name came out all on its own. Definitely wasn't a conscious decision on my part. And as far as the flash grenade, I don't know. I just acted on instinct, I guess."

Oliver was disappointed, but not overly. She had been acting just as Felicity would have before, memories intact or not.

"We've got incoming," Jai announced. Oliver followed his line of sight and spotted the inbound boat heading straight for them a couple hundred yards out.

"Any chance we can out run them?" Felicity asked.

"None," Jai answered gravely, placing the rifle beside him, partially hidden behind his right leg. Oliver checked the magazine in his own gun and confirmed his suspicion: only 3 rounds remaining. He'd have to make each one count.

When the approaching boat was close enough to hear, Jai and Oliver braced themselves. Felicity glanced down at her empty hands before looking across the water. "Guess I'll just keep my fingers crossed then."

Oliver was very aware of their limited space in the tiny vessel, they'd be sitting ducks. Short of throwing Felicity overboard, there would be no way of defending her. And he was actually considering doing just that when the boat got close enough for the two passengers to become discernible.

He let out a relieved breath again and touched Jai's shoulder to lower his weapon. "It's okay," he told him.

Oliver stood up, positioning his feet on either side of the boat to balance his weight as the other vessel slowed its approach. It coasted several yards next to them before idling near enough for Oliver to catch the rope Roy threw out toward him.

"It's about time you showed up!" Oliver called out as Roy laughed and pulled the rope. Diggle walked around the steering wheel of the sleek speed boat and grinned broadly.

"That's a cute boat you got there," Digg said with a laugh, reaching across the remaining space to grab Oliver's outstretched hand and pull them over. He hopped over to stand next to Digg, immediately clapping his arm across his back. "It's really good to see you," Oliver told him.

Diggle returned his hug before pulling away to glance back down toward the other boat. Felicity was standing, holding her arms out beside her in order to better balance, and Digg reached over to grasp her hand. "Looks like the mission was a success then," he said as he helped (or more accurately, lifted entirely) Felicity into the other boat.

Jai followed behind her, needing no assistance. Which was good considering that Roy and Diggle were now completely transfixed by the sight of Felicity Smoak standing before them. She smiled politely, tucking a short strand of hair behind her ear as she shifted nervously under their gaze. Oliver, sensing her discomfort, cleared his throat, garnering their attention.

"Felicity, this is John Diggle and Roy Harper. Friends," he introduced. Digg and Roy shot him an incredulous look. Roy recovered quicker, offering his hand to Felicity. Diggle held Oliver's eyes for a beat longer, conveying much more sympathy and sadness and support than could ever be said aloud. Felicity didn't know them, but she was alive. She was back with them. The rest of the stuff would work itself out later, Diggle told him all of this in that one look.

Oliver nodded, turning toward Felicity again. She held out her hand to John, meeting his eyes once more. After a brief hesitation he accepted it, smiling warmly at her. Oliver could see the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes as he shook her hand, letting a full three seconds pass before he finally said "screw it," and enveloped her in a hug.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, reaching up to pat the back of his shoulder while he continued squeezing her. "I take it we're friends, too."

John chuckled softly, closing his eyes to rest his cheek against her hair briefly before releasing her and stepping away. "That's right. And I'm damn glad to see you, Felicity."

She genuinely smiled at that, some of the awkward nervousness seeming to fade away since Digg decided to break the ice all at once. Roy laughed. "I second that!" he said.

Felicity laughed too, reaching up to touch her temple as if adjusting the glasses that weren't there, before dropping her hand to her side.

John moved back behind the steering wheel. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to go home."

"I second _that,_" Oliver spoke softly, knowing that Diggle couldn't have heard him. Felicity glanced sideways at him though, a soft smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her eyes were sad, he noted, but not defeated. Not broken. Oliver felt immensely lighter all of the sudden, fully comprehending for the first time that they had made it out. And Felicity was right beside him.

She was here. She was safe. She was here. She was safe.

The chorus of words played over and over in his mind as he dropped onto the bench in front of the steering wheel beside Felicity. He stretched his legs out before him, completely relaxed in feeling the presence by his side.

She was here.

She was safe.

Everything else they could deal with. Together.

* * *

AAN: Not done just yet guys. One more chapter. And here's a hint... it's titled: Who in the world is Felicity Smoak? Which features the POV we've been waiting for all along.

:)

Oh and sorry for any errors. I was in a rush to get this typed and sent out for y'all to read!


	12. Who in the World is Felicity Smoak?

AN: After an embarrassingly long hiatus, I am finally posting the conclusion to this tale. I have to admit, it's been finished for a while - almost a year - but remained in my notebook, gathering dust, until now. For all of you who have followed, favorited, and reviewed this story: I hope that you find this a satisfying end to the Arrow fic you took a chance on all those months ago. I know there is an incalculable number of fanfics out there, written by much more talented and dedicated authors than yours truly, so just the fact that you clicked on mine at all makes me very happy. :)

I'm sure many have given up on my ever finishing this story, which is understandable. So if you are reading this now, thanks for being such a trooper.

Now, how about we finally hear what Ms. Smoak has to say?

\- H

* * *

Who in the world is Felicity Smoak?

Rather, who in the world had she been before?

The question had been only one of many plaguing Felicity's mind in the weeks following their narrow escape from Battleship Island, but it was this question in particular that remained forefront in her thoughts at all times. On the surface, it wasn't that complex. She'd had the answer first supplied by Oliver, and again by the friends waiting for her back in Star City; answered with the pictures they'd shown, in the stories shared. She also received help with the answer by her own mother, who'd wrapped her arms around Felicity for a full ten minutes at first sight. It had been a tearful reunion for them both; her mother crying into her shoulder as she whispered "my baby" over and over had resulted in a well spring of tears from Felicity's own eyes because she still couldn't remember this woman, regardless of how natural it felt to be in her arms.

Donna remained in Starling for five days, taking care of Felicity by bringing her warm milk in bed, keeping her up well into the night for movie marathons, regaling her more colorful childhood idiosyncrasies, and taking her on numerous shopping excursions. Felicity had endured it all without complaint, seeing that such "care" was helping her mother more than she. And she had tried to not show her relief upon Donna's announcement that she would be returning to Las Vegas.

Diggle had offered to drive them to the airport, staying in the car as Felicity walked her to the security checkpoint where they said their goodbyes.

"Thank you. For staying with me. For everything. It helped," Felicity offered with a smile.

Donna stopped walking to set her bags on the floor and fixed Felicity with a pointed look, her bright pink lips turning down. "You always were a terrible liar. At least that hasn't changed."

Felicity ducked her head, feeling stupid and a little ashamed for thinking Donna wouldn't see through the lie in her words. "Hey," Donna said softly, taking Felicity's face in her hands and raising her chin when she didn't respond. "You're still my baby girl. That hasn't changed either. I'll see you soon, okay?"

Felicity could only nod in reply. Donna then kissed her forehead before releasing her face and retrieving her bags. "Let your friends help you, Felicity. They love you, whether you remember that or not."

When she'd returned to the car blinking away the last bit of remaining tears, Digg drove them away from the airport in silence. Several minutes passed by before she found she could handle the quiet no longer. "How's Sara doing?" she asked him. Felicity had met his adorable baby girl at a homecoming dinner a few nights prior, but Lyla had departed early when Sara became fussy.

"Teething," Digg answered. "When she's not crying, she's slobbering on everything. Can't be a fun experience for her. Guess it's a good thing none of us can remember going through it."

Felicity stilled at his words, suddenly wishing she'd just endured the silence of the car ride. "I guess so."

"Felicity, I-"

"No, it's okay," she interrupted. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. Maybe it is better to forget some things." She didn't know why she said that. When out of the corner of her eye she saw John's head turn toward her, she wished she could take it back.

She felt sorry for herself enough; she didn't need others doing it for her, too.

"Can we just forget I said that?" she pleaded, hanging her head.

"You got it," he replied, focusing on the road ahead. "You're gonna get your memories back, Felicity," he promised.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I know you. Your brain will work it out on its own." She appreciated his vote of confidence, but didn't respond. Neither of them broke the silence for the remainder of the ride.

For his part, Oliver had remained relatively quiet on the whole memory-recovery issue, keeping his curiosity to one simple inquiry each morning. "Anything?" he'd ask in way of greeting, his impossibly blue eyes searching hers. Every "no" was then followed by a comforting squeeze of her shoulder or hand.

He was constantly touching her this way - in small quick movements, his hand there and gone so fast that Felicity was left only to feel the lingering effects of each contact.

Which, as pleasant as they were, only left her feeling more confused. Each brush of his fingertips never failed to light a fire under her skin, sending her pulse into embarrassing overdrive. She was fairly certain he had to have noticed, and must have felt that same connection. What that connection was, she still had no idea. Nor would she ask.

She just knew that she was never closer to the truth - to uncovering the mystery of her past - than when she was near him.

It was as if her memories were right there just beneath the surface, just beyond her reach. Several times she had caught herself zoning out as she watched him, lost in some obscure thought while something else tugged at the very back of her mind. And just when she thought she might have it, her mind would slip back into the present. It was frustrating beyond belief, much like waking from a dream she was only just having; a dream she could still feel, but the details of which she was unable to recall.

As it turned out, it eventually would be a dream that sparked her first real memory. In it, Felicity was standing in front of a bank of computer screens, each one painted with a glowing red target. A woman stood next to her decked out in black leather from head to toe. She had freckles and a dimpled chin which deepened as she smiled at Felicity.

The woman put a gun in Felicity's hand and straightened her arm out in front of her, training it on the computers as she aligned her face next to hers, cheek to cheek. "Just point and shoot," she instructed.

"That easy?"

"Yep. Trust your instincts. You gotta stop overthinking it," she told her, a smile in her voice. Felicity pulled the trigger and the computer screen shattered. She let out an excited giggle, throwing her arms around the woman. Laughing, she returned Felicity's hug. "You're still cute."

At those words, the dream ended and Felicity's eyes shot open. "Sara," she whispered in her quiet room. She threw her covers back and located her shoes and car keys within seconds before heading out into the cloud-covered night. The entire drive to the Glades she focused on the dream and the memory of her friend that it had ignited.

"I have a scar," Felicity recalled telling Sara, Diggle, and Oliver as the three sparred in the lair. The rest of the details were still fuzzy, but she could plainly see Sara's dimpled smile as she regarded Felicity. Which led to Felicity remembering the events that had ended in her getting shot, the image of which caused her to jolt and swerve into the other lane.

She corrected her steering quickly, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat as her heart slowly returned to normal. Thankfully the streets were free of any other drivers this time of night. From where she tossed her purse in the backseat, she heard her cell phone ringing. Not wanting to risk reaching for it, she ignored it and accelerated toward the Glades, replaying the memory over and over again in her mind.

Felicity parked her Mini Cooper on the street and ran toward the alley behind Verdant. A familiar sounding engine behind her made her pause and she turned to see Oliver's Ducati screeching to a halt in front of her. He threw off his helmet and dismounted the bike, closing the distance between them before she could even blink.

"Oliver. What-"

He took hold of the tops of her arms in an almost painful grip, silencing the question on her lips. "Are you okay?" he demanded breathlessly. Felicity blinked at the urgency in his tone while attempting to calm her heart's reaction to his proximity. Why had she come here again?

"Felicity, talk to me! What is it?"

_Talk to me, Felicity. Talk us through. Felicity, what is going on with you? Fe-li-ci-ty…_

Felicity closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the onslaught of phrases running through her mind. The countless different ways he'd said her name before - said in frustration, in worry, humor and indulgence, anger, and…love? She opened her eyes to look into his, searching for more memories there.

"I remembered something," she told him.

Visibly angry, Oliver let out a shaky breath but not altogether releasing the tension in his frame. "You can't just leave in the middle of the night like that, Felicity. You scared the hell out of me!"

"Wait," she said, momentarily distracted. "How'd you even know I left?"

Oliver released her arms as if he'd been stung and took a step back. His guilty expression was all the answer she needed, however. "You're keeping tabs on me?!" He didn't bother responding and Felicity threw her head back, an angry laugh escaping her lips. "And you aren't even going to try and deny it."

"No," he replied. "And I'm not going to apologize for it either."

Felicity turned away from him, fuming as she again headed for the foundry's entrance. He caught up to her easily, placing his hand on the door to prevent her from opening it.

"Move out of my way, Oliver."

"Not until you understand something," he retorted, matching her tone and standing so close to her face that Felicity could smell the toothpaste on his breath. He paused before continuing in a tone softer, yet still angry. "I went 76 days having no idea where you were. Nearly _three months_ not knowing whether or not you were safe, or unharmed, or even alive." He paused again, his struggle recalling the experience apparent.

Felicity swallowed, stifling her urge to interrupt. He fixed his haunted gaze on her once more, revealing to Felicity the depth of agony he had endured - agony that he normally kept hidden behind practiced facade.

"So I will not apologize for needing to know where you are at all times. It's hard enough letting you out of my sight as it is."

A silent stand-off followed, each of them waiting for the other to argue further. Felicity was the one who backed down first - dropping her gaze, and the subject- but only because there was something more urgent on her mind. Oliver's shoulders sagged slightly in relief before eventually opening the door for her. She pointed a finger at his face as she passed by him.

"This isn't over, Oliver. We _will_ have a discussion on boundaries very soon," she warned.

"Yes ma'am."

Together they walked toward to the main area of the foundry where Diggle and Roy stood looking hilariously innocent. She tossed her keys onto the desk, narrowing her eyes at them as Oliver walked around her.

"Told you she'd be pissed," Roy said to Diggle under his breath.

"Shut up. All of you," she ordered when Digg opened his mouth to speak. "We'll talk about your unwanted surveillance later. There's something else I wanted to discuss first. I came over because I think I remembered something!"

"Felicity, that's great!" Digg exclaimed, obviously happy but also relieved to avoid the other conversation right then. "I knew it would come to you eventually."

"So what did you remember, blondie?" Roy asked. "Was it meeting me? Everything that happened before I joined the team is no doubt forgettable anyways."

Oliver slapped Roy on the back of his head, keeping his focus on Felicity. She laughed nervously, feeling self-conscious all of the sudden.

"Not what. _Who_," she began. "I remembered Sara. Big Sara. Well not big, but adult-sized."

"Arguably," Digg murmured, his smile wavering somewhat.

"I had a dream about her! She was teaching me how to shoot. When I woke up I remembered that I'd been shot! I took a bullet for her, didn't I?" Felicity stepped toward them as she spoke, becoming more excited as the memory cleared even more. Their collective expressions confused her though, for they no longer shared in her excitement.

"Getting your very own scar in the process," Digg confirmed, disapproval in his tone. Roy smiled sympathetically; Oliver's expression was unreadable.

"So where is she? Did she go back to the League of Assassins? Holy _crap_ – that's a thing!" Felicity laughed again, realizing she'd only barely scratched the surface of the world in which she lived. Roy shifted uncomfortably, focusing on anything but Felicity. Letting out heavy sigh, Diggle turned away to rest his hands on the chrome counter top.

Oliver hadn't taken his eyes off of her though, regarding Felicity with that intense gaze of his while not answering her question; waiting for her to work it all out on her own, she guessed. And then she saw it – an image breaking through the twists and tangles of her mind; flashing suddenly, gone just as quickly, yet permanently searing itself on to her memory - Sara laid out on the med bay, her wide, lifeless eyes frozen in death.

She'd looked so small…

"Oh God." Felicity let out a strangled sob, hand flying to cover her mouth. Oliver moved toward her, but she stopped him with a raised hand. "I need a minute!"

He froze in his steps, face contorted by his own pain.

Why this? Of all the things she could have remembered, her mind conjured up the one thing Felicity would have rather stayed forgotten. Sara. Their teammate. Her friend. She dropped her hands, a thought occurring as her eyes landed on the side of Diggle's face. Gaze fixed on the empty space across the foundry, Felicity saw his Adam's Apple dip as he swallowed back his emotions.

"You named your daughter after her," she whispered. Diggle hung his head in response, unable to hide the quivering of his chin. Felicity grabbed her keys off the table and practically ran toward the door, ignoring the chorus of protests behind her. She couldn't look a them any longer; couldn't remain in the room where Sara's body had laid, a dark arrow protruding from her chest.

She barely made it into the alley when a hand gripped her arm from behind, twisting her body so that she came face to chest with Oliver. She recoiled, attempting to extricate herself out of his hold, but his strong arms were unrelenting. She pushed her hands into his chest anyway, trying to put distance between them. Feeling the hard lines of the muscles under her fingertips, she became suddenly, and inexplicably, overwhelmed with the scent of him. That masculine scent that was so uniquely his – a distinct combination of leather and soap and whatever else that had attracted her even when she had no idea who he was - rendered useless all the other senses and mental capacities she once possessed. It hadn't mattered who he was, or who she was for that matter; her body hadn't needed those details then, and it didn't care now. Raising her head to meet his gaze, she lost whatever fight she had in her at the sight of his now darkened eyes boring into hers.

Without thinking, she stood up on the very tips of her toes and planted her lips on his. The hands that had just been pushing him away now dug into his chest. Oliver stilled for a fraction of a second before reacting, moving his lips against hers. Felicity responded by running her tongue alongside the rim on his mouth, seeking entrance. An animalistic rumble of his chest reverberated into her fingertips before it escaped out of his mouth, parting his lips to allow the collision of their tongues.

Any hesitancy on his part disappeared entirely as she angled her head and deepened the kiss. He released the grip he had on her arms, and then they were everywhere – tangling in her hair, trailing down her neck, slipping underneath the loose fabric of her shirt to travel the length of her spine, and back down again to the waistband of her yoga pants. Felicity broke away from him just long enough to let out a startled sound when his hands gripped the back of her legs, lifting her body and parting her legs to wrap around him in one swift motion, before capturing her mouth again.

Oliver moved them, pushing her back against the alley wall. With the additional support, her hands were then freed to explore all the muscles she'd long been admiring from a distance. She lost all sense of time and space, his body pressed flush against hers became the center of her existence. Oliver released her lips to plant a trail of kisses down her neck, pausing to suck a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone, sending heat straight to her core.

Felicity's hips rocked into his in response; Oliver's hands tightened on her thighs. Taking advantage of his lowered head, she took his earlobe into her mouth, biting and sucking until Oliver growled - literally _growled -_ into her neck as his entire body reacted to her. Felicity rocked again, feeling his hardness press into her center, drawing a moan out of her that he promptly caught with his lips.

Her entire body ached for him; demanding, almost painfully, for him to be inside of her. Clumsy, shaky hands reached in between them, seeking the button of his jeans that restricted him from her. After successfully unclasping it, Oliver's mouth stilled against hers. Taking the opportunity, she glanced down at the opposing pants and shifted, creating just enough space for her hand so that she could begin working on the the zipper, but his hand shot out to stop her.

"Felicity," he breathed against her face. She met his dark eyes and saw the war behind them.

"I need you," she told him, kissing his jaw. "Now." She further reinforced her words by biting his lower lip, causing his hips to thrust into her in an unconscious, primal response. Satisfied, she resumed her work on the removal of his jeans while keeping his mouth occupied.

Oliver broke away suddenly, turning his head away from her. "No, Felicity. Not like this."

"Take me to the car then," she suggested against his ear, feeling her own pleasure build as a shiver coursed through his body. He took a step back from the wall, his hands supporting her bottom while she unwrapped her legs and planted her feet on the ground between his. He let go of her but didn't move away.

For a moment, only the sounds of their heavy breathing filled the alley as Oliver searched Felicity's face.

"How did we meet?" he asked her suddenly. Felicity drew her head back in surprise.

"What?"

"Tell me how we met," he repeated, waiting.

"Oliver, what the hell is this? Some sort of test?" Anger rose within her, blurring the lines between it and the passion she still felt. Oliver took several measured breaths, eyes darting around the alley behind her.

"You can't tell me," he muttered. "You don't know how or why you came to work with me, came to trust me. You don't even know why you're here now."

"What does that matter?!" she shot back. "I _am _here now! And I know what I want."

Oliver shook his head. "It matters."

"What happened to trusting my instincts?"

"This is different, Felicity," he replied, almost reprimanding, and Felicity laughed harshly. Oliver ignored the sound and continued. "I once told you that I couldn't be both Oliver Queen and the Arrow; that as long as the city needed saving, I couldn't have the life that _I_ wanted. There were two halves of me at war and I thought I had to choose, thought that only one side could exist. Felicity, you have to reconcile both parts of your life now - the memories and feelings that are only beginning to resurface, and the very real memories of the past few months. In order for this to happen," he motioned between them. "It's going to have to be all of you, not just fragments. Do you understand?" His eyebrows furrowed, searching her face for the answer he sought.

An image flashed through her mind then - an image of this very same expression and eyes fixed upon her, the alley walls replaced by a backdrop of an ornately decorated foyer where she and Oliver stood, hands clasped as they stared into each other's eyes.

_I love you. Do you understand?_

Felicity blinked at the overwhelming mixture of conflicted emotions the images and words caused. A memory of Oliver's first declaration of love? Or merely a hopeless fantasy she had once conjured up?

She couldn't recall if she'd responded to him then, and couldn't find it in her to respond to him now, suddenly too exhausted and angry to fight or make sense of it all. When she turned away from him to walk back to her car, Oliver didn't follow. She drove away in a numbed state of autopilot, not stopping when she made it back to her neighborhood, nor when she reached the edge of Starling City limits. Completely lost in the vast vacuity of her mind, as it intermittently flashed random, confusing images in between thoughts of Sara and the League of Assassins; of an un-hooded Green Arrow passing a syringe into her hands, a declaration of love on his lips; and of a distant voice, vague yet eerily distinct, echoing the words "She is quite lovely – your Felicity."

_Who in the world is Felicity Smoak?_ The question was at the end of the disorienting maze her mind had led her down, leaving her perhaps even more lost than before. With a heavy heart, she turned on the radio to drown out her thoughts as Star City disappeared in her rear-view mirror.

* * *

"Felicity?"

Felicity stood outside the Employee Only entrance of S.T.A.R. labs when she heard her name coming from the parking lot behind her. She turned to see Dr. Caitlyn Snow approaching, her kind face smiling even as her eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

"Caitlyn. Hi," she greeted while shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The white slippers she'd hurriedly thrown on a hours ago were now soaked from the light drizzle of rain she encountered upon arriving to the impressive facility. And there she had stood second-guessing herself in the half hour since, long after the rain stopped in time to make way for a gorgeous Central City sunrise – the type that Star City rarely ever saw.

"What are you doing in Central City?" Caitlyn asked as her eyes glanced over Felicity's yoga pants and tank top, but graciously not commenting on.

"I was going to ask you a favor actually," Felicity stammered. Caitlyn waited for her to continue. "Would you mind checking my head again?"

Caitlyn's expression softened even more, if that were possible, and she turned to unlock the door. "Of course not."

Two hours later, Felicity sat atop the medical exam table beneath S.T.A.R. labs waiting for the results from her head scan. Caitlyn had offered her a hoodie before she began the tests, which she'd gratefully accepted.

The tests themselves hadn't taken very long at all, especially with Caitlyn filling the air with small talk while consciously avoiding any specific questioning as to what led to Felicity's arrival. She was an excellent doctor, her bed-side manner impeccable. The familiarity between the women certainly helped what could have been an awkward situation for them both, of course. Caitlyn had been among those in attendance to Felicity's welcome home party shortly after the Alan Smoak / Battleship Island fiasco. Felicity had found her presence then a comfort among the many friendly faces she didn't recognize. Out of the lot, Caitlyn was one of the few she had spent the most time with after the island, their acquaintance evolving due to Oliver's insisting on a full medical evaluation before anything else.

Barry Allen had also been waiting with Caitlyn at the port when the first reached the mainland, where Felicity's wound was quickly tended to by the young doctor. The more extensive tests were undergone at their lab in Central City, the results of which had been Oliver's real concern. But he'd been understandably dissatisfied with the inconclusive results, for there'd been no answers as to why or how her memory had been erased. Which was what brought Felicity back here now, seeking the very same elusive answers to the questions she could barely articulate.

Felicity was sitting cross-legged on the exam table fiddling with the draw string of her pants when Caitlyn returned, biting her lip as she stared at the tablet screen in her hands. A wave of disappointment fell over Felicity, recognizing the look on her friend's face instantly.

"There's no change, is there?"

Caitlyn looked up from the screen, an apology already written on her expression.

"According to these scans all brain activity is perfectly normal, just as before," she told her. "I'm sorry I don't have anything more than that, Felicity. I can try a new round of scans, if you want. Focusing solely on the medial temporal lobe."

Felicity shook her head, blinking away unshed tears before she agitated the only pair of contacts she had on her. "That's all right, Caitlyn. Don't worry about it," Felicity replied. "I guess I sort of already knew that would be the case. It was worth a shot, I suppose." She shrugged, giving a show of indifferent acceptance though feeling anything but. From the look Caitlyn gave her, she wasn't buying it at all. She placed her tablet on the table nearby and sat down on a stool in front of Felicity.

"I know it's frustrating," Caitlyn began, touching her leg. "But - and this is my official medical opinion - I do still believe your memories will return in due time. There's no scientific reason that would lead me to think otherwise. As difficult as it may seem, you're just going to have to be patient. You've been through a lot, Felicity."

Felicity let out a breathy laugh and rose from the table. "Apparently more than I realized."

"What do you mean?"

Felicity didn't answer, instead crossing her arms and focusing intently on the tile floor.

"Felicity," Caitlyn pressed. "Did something happen? Is that why you came here?" The concern in Caitlyn's voice mirrored the look in her eyes, and Felicity quickly broke her gaze again, suppressing the image of Sara's lifeless form in her mind's eye.

"Caitlyn? You in here?" Barry Allen's voice called from the adjacent room, startling them both.

"We're in here, Barry," Caitlyn answered over her shoulder, frowning apologetically at Felicity. Barry bounced into the room, rocking back on the heels of his signature Chuck's when he spotted Felicity standing near the exam table.

"Felicity. Hey!" He gave her a once over, taking in her borrowed clothes and disheveled appearance before looking to Caitlyn in question. She didn't take her eyes off of Felicity though, and Barry stepped further into the room. "I still can't get used to the hair. I almost didn't recognize you."

"It's good to see you again, Barry," she replied with a forced smile. He glanced between she and Caitlyn.

"So what's up? What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

Caitlyn stood and turned so that she could face them both. "Felicity told me she was going to be in town so I asked her to drop by and say hi," she explained.

"It's all right, Caitlyn," Felicity interrupted. "I asked her to check by brain again. To try and find out what's wrong with me. But apparently it's not my brain that's the problem."

"Felicity, there's nothing wrong with you," Caitlyn assured her, preparing to argue further.

"Tell that to Oliver," Felicity interrupted under her breath, regretting the words immediately. Barry stepped closer, crossing his arms as he searched her face.

"Where is Oliver?" he asked.

"Patrolling Starling, I'd imagine."

"Does he know you're here?"

Felicity's head shot up, eyes flashing. "Of course. Oliver knows where I am at all times these days. I'm always on his damned radar. Literally!"

Caitlyn ducked her head at Felicity's outburst, but Barry didn't flinch, keeping his gaze on her firmly in place.

"Not always, Felicity," he corrected. Felicity turned her back to them and rested her palms on the exam table, sucking in a heavy breath. Several moments passed in silence until the clicking of Caitlyn's heels retreated from the room. Whatever unspoken conversation shared between them having decided that Barry would now speak to Felicity alone. She braced herself for the coming lecture. He rounded the exam table to stand opposite her, but she refused to look up.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok?" Felicity began when could take the silence no more, meeting Barry's eyes. "I understand what everyone did to help find me, and appreciate what you must've went through…"

"I don't think you do. Understand, I mean," Barry stated, surprising her. She bit her lip and waited for him to continue. He looked away for a second, as if deciding whether or not to go on.

"When you were gone, I'd never seen Oliver so… so lost before. Don't get me wrong, we were all desperate to get you back. But Oliver," Barry paused and Felicity took a deep breath, unsure if she wanted him to continue now or not. "Let's just say we all knew that his survival depended on finding you alive."

Felicity blinked away tears once more, focusing on the wall beside her as a few managed to spill over anyway. "I can't remember him," she whispered. "I can't remember anyone. And until I can, I'm not back. Not really."

Barry shook his head, the frown on his mouth deepening. "Felicity, that's so not true."

"It is true, Barry! Everyone keeps looking at me like they're waiting for someone else to magically appear! And what if that someone never comes back? What if she is gone forever? What then?!" The tears were falling freely now; she didn't bother wiping them away.

"You're still you!" he shot back, his voice angrier than Felicity had ever heard. Which was probably because of his attempt to match her tone, Felicity was ashamed to realize. "Even without your memories, you are the same girl we all know and love. You're here, Felicity. You're alive and well. That's all that matters to anyone, especially Oliver."

She wanted to argue further, to point out that without her memories she wasn't really "well" because she wasn't whole, and consequently of no interest to Oliver. But she was too ashamed to say this out loud, too unwilling to defend her hypothesis with the fumbled moment in the alley as evidence. Even now, locked away in her own mind as it was, the memory caused her cheeks to flush in embarrassment.

"If you never get your memories back, it won't change your worth to your team and friends. It won't change how Oliver feels."

Felicity closed her eyes, blocking her view of the sympathetic expression on Barry's face and shielding her traitorous emotions from him. She wished nothing more than to be able to believe his words.

"I can't stick around waiting for something to happen that might not," she eventually told him, steeling her face when she looked at him again. "And I can't handle the disappointment on their faces anymore."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Distance myself. For a while, at least. That's what sabbaticals are for right? To go find yourself?" She added the last part with a cheeky smile, but Barry wasn't amused. He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture that she recognized from their few encounters.

"You know I have to tell Oliver you were here, right?" His face revealed how much he was not looking forward to that conversation. Felicity was nodding as she walked past him into the other room where Caitlyn was sitting in front of the bank of computers.

"I know. Even though it's completely unnecessary since he already knows where I am," Felicity answered, retrieving her car keys from the counter top. She smiled, genuinely this time, toward Caitlyn as the tall brunette stood and enveloped Felicity in a tight hug. "Thank you for all your help," Felicity said, locking eyes with Barry over her shoulder. "Both of you. Your friendship means a lot."

"You're welcome here anytime," Caitlyn replied as she released her. Felicity noted the moisture in the doctor's eyes, guessing Caitlyn must have heard at least some of her and Barry's conversation, and concluding that this might be the last time they saw each other for a while.

Felicity squeezed her hand once before turning toward the door, waving at Barry from the hall. He nodded, keeping his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. She made it to the end of the long, winding corridor when she heard Barry call her name. She turned, waiting for him to jog – at a normal, non-speedster pace – over to her side.

Barry looked down at her face, shifting nervously again. "You know that finding yourself and regaining your memories aren't mutually exclusive, right? If those are truly your ultimate goals, just remember that they're two separate things. Ok?"

Felicity considered that for a moment, nodding absently in reply. She decided to table that particular theory for later mental deliberation. For now, she'd focus only the open road waiting for her outside, and putting as much distance as possible between she and anyone who knew the old Felicity Smoak – the girl who was gone, but not forgotten, by everyone else _except_ Felicity.

That Felicity Smoak was forefront on her mind as she made her way across the sunny parking lot toward her car, wondering if it were possible to miss someone she couldn't even remember.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

"Everything's fine, John. We literally just walked in the door!" Donna's voice carried through the walls of the small apartment and into Felicity's "room" (Donna's overflow closet), as she cheerily answered Digg's questions. Felicity paused briefly, angling her ear toward the cracked open door when Donna's voice dropped an octave. "Give her a chance to unpack and get settled, ok? We've barely had the chance to put our bags on the floor."

Donna wasn't exaggerating this time; Felicity heaved her carry-on suitcase onto the futon couch, the luggage having gained at least ten pounds since first packing its contents. Her mother had taken one look at her unpacked items upon arriving to their Florida hotel room - all of which fit neatly into one drawer - and insisted on going shopping immediately.

"We're in Orlando, Felicity!" she exclaimed when Felicity objected. "You can't possibly intend on going to the beach without the proper bikini."

"Mom, you do know Orlando is land-locked, right?"

"As if that matters!"

That had been the first of many shopping excursions in their two week stay in Florida, which eventually did include a road trip to the beach as well as every park of Disney World and Universal Studios - all courtesy of Ray Palmer's exuberant generosity.

When Felicity first learned of Ray's part in the impromptu vacation, she almost nixed the entire trip before it began. But Donna had expertly guilted Felicity into setting aside her pride, explaining that it was Donna's one chance at having the mother/daughter vacation she'd never been able to afford.

"She's great, John. I swear. This trip was exactly what we both needed."

Felicity quietly closed the door, drowning out her mother's lengthy description of everything they'd seen in Florida by selecting her favorite Spotify station. Donna's conversations with Digg, and with Ray too when he called, were never short, no matter how busy the bubbly blonde claimed to be. It was a true testament to Digg's character that he continued calling twice, sometimes three times a week, never letting on to the fact that he hadn't the time to listen.

Especially now, Felicity assumed, as his time was largely taken up these days by their continued extracurricular activities. pulling more weight than usual in the IT department. He'd never say as much, of course, but that didn't stop Felicity from feeling guilty almost every second of every day. Knowing the risks they were all taking as she strolled around Magic Kingdom or rode Space Mountain until getting sick, made her feel despicable.

It was both the guilt and the motion sickness that had Felicity opting out of most of the rides before the end of day three. In the days that followed, she would wait outside the attractions while Donna carried on unbothered. The times waiting for Donna to rejoin her – the minutes not spent with her ever present delightful chatter – were the chances for Felicity to really feel the heaviness of her guilt. Watching the mouse-eared children bounce across the park grounds with their amused parents in tow, having no notion of the darkness that existed so near, made Felicity truly appreciate the importance of what her friends did in Starling each night.

She often wondered if they resented her chosen absence as much as she blamed herself for it. Or worse, if her absence was even felt at all.

In the other room, Donna continued chatting animatedly on the phone. Felicity was grateful for it however, for her mother's long-windedness usually ensured that little time was left for Felicity to have to make conversation. Whether Donna did so intentionally or not, Felicity wasn't sure. But talking with Digg, no matter how patient or understanding he was, never failed to exhaust Felicity.

Because as much as she wished she could, she still was unable to offer that which she knew he really sought though never asked - an answer to the question Oliver would first ask of him as soon as he disconnected the call. She hadn't remembered anything else since her departure. It didn't bother her as much as it once did, however. Not being there to see the disappointment on their faces certainly helped in that respect.

What Digg didn't know, nor her mother or anyone else, was that she'd often lie awake for hours staring up at the popcorn ceiling, feeling like her memory was hanging in the air above her, close enough that she felt it was just beyond reach… frustratingly unattainable.

On one such night almost three weeks earlier, she eventually reached for her phone in thoughtless desperation and hit the speed-dial, noticing a second too late that it was close to 4:00AM. Before she could reconsider or overthink the ramifications of such a call, Oliver answered on the first ring. His voice was husky, deepened with sleep, but otherwise alert.

"Felicity." He breathed her name into the phone, sounding more like a whispered prayer than a greeting, saying nothing further. She had assumed he would immediately start asking questions – if she was okay, where she was, why she was calling at that time of night – instead he silently waited, unaware of how her name on his lips affected her, even over the phone.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she finally whispered.

"I'm not," he replied. She heard movement through the line and imagined him sitting up in bed to switch on the light. She smiled into the phone.

"How are you?" he asked.

"That's a loaded question," she answered. "But mostly good. How about you?"

"Mostly good, too."

"Glad to hear it."

A comfortable silence fell over them with neither in a hurry to fill it. She wasn't sure what exactly had compelled her to call, aside from simply wanting to hear his voice.

"I'm happy you called," he said as if reading her thoughts. "I've missed you, Felicity."

She smiled again, though this time it was layered with sadness and regret. "I'm sorry I haven't checked in more. Though, I think that maybe we both needed some time."

She hadn't said she missed him too, but hoped that he could hear what she wouldn't say.

"Take all the time you need. As long as I know you're happy, that's enough for me."

The subject of what she needed versus what she wanted in terms of her happiness wasn't something she was willing to broach at that hour, so she quickly diverted by saying the first thing that came to mind. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

Oliver chuckled, though it wasn't out of amusement. "That's a loaded request."

"Is it?"

"Even before, you never really knew everything."

"I thought you said I knew you better than anyone," she pressed, switching the phone to the other ear as she snuggled further into her sheets.

"You did. You do," he amended. "Doesn't mean I told you everything about my past. Or what made me who I am today."

"How come?"

Oliver was silent for a full minute before answering. "Because I am a selfish man."

Felicity's throat tightened upon hearing the deep remorse in his voice and wished she was there beside him, though she didn't know what comfort she could provide. She longed to reach out and touch him, a gentle hand on his arm or shoulder, in the same manner and gesture he'd so often extended to her.

"Pretty sure you've already proven that to be false. But explain. Please."

He sighed heavily into the speaker; she could easily picture him lean his head back, clenching his jaw as he stared at the ceiling. "I liked the way you looked at me," he began. "It was... nice. It made me feel... like I was someone worthy of your trust, of your faith. When you looked at me like that, for a second I could almost believe it. For one brief second, I could almost believe I as redeemable."

He paused again for several moments, and Felicity held her breath until he continued. "But if you really knew everything about me - everything I had done in order to survive, everything I had become and, for the most part, still am - it would've changed how you saw me. I was scared; I wasn't ready to lose the faith you had in me... I wasn't ready to lose you."

Felicity swallowed the lump in her throat and turned onto her back. "Granted I don't know much about the person I was, but I feel like she wouldn't have scared that easily."

Oliver laughed – a quick, muted huff of air, but a laugh all the same. Felicity liked the sound.

"You are absolutely right about that," he agreed; Felicity could hear the smile in the words.

"So tell me something. Anything," she urged again. "It doesn't have to be anything you wouldn't have told the old me. Well not the _old_ me, the me before that was only slightly younger than the me now."

"All right," he began, smiling still. From his tone, Felicity guessed he had already decided on what he was going to tell her. "When you and I first met, you naturally lapsed into one of those endearing verbal spirals that you can sometimes get lost in. And as I waited, my confusion turned amazed, and then finally amused. It was the first time after my return home that the mask I wore fell away. You just made me smile. It was that simple."

"Really." The doubt was undercurrent in her tone.

"Really," he repeated. "There was just something about you. You were just so bright and open and… good."

He sounded at peace as he described his first impressions, a peace that translated through the line and washed over her as well.

"You're good too, Oliver," she told him. "I may not know much, but I do know that."

"You believed that when no one else did," he replied. "You held me to a higher standard. It was one of the very few constants in my life."

"Well for what it's worth, that hasn't changed." She stifled a yawn, feeling tired for the first time that night/morning.

"It's worth more than you'll ever know, Felicity," he whispered. "Think you can go to sleep now?" It seemed he'd heard her yawn anyway.

"I think so. Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be all right if I called again sometime?"

"Any time. I'll be here," he promised, igniting a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. "Good night, Felicity."

"Good morning, Oliver."

And indeed she had called again after that night. They'd carried on dozens of similar conversations since then, most of them in the dark hours of early morning, but some during the light of day as well. Whenever a question would spark her curiosity or something else hovered at the edge of her awareness, she would pick up the phone and call.

Understandably, Oliver wasn't always able to answer on the first ring or even at all, but he never failed to call back as soon as he was able. Though the wait was agonizing for Felicity as she worried over his safety, she never asked for any details about Arrow business, limiting her questions to personal inquiries regarding Digg and Roy.

Due to her sudden vacation and its requirement of a shared room with Donna, Felicity hadn't been able to call as often as she would've liked. On their second day in Florida, Felicity and Donna returned to their hotel room to find a small velvet box wrapped with a single gold ribbon; a single white card was attached, her name elegantly scrawled across it. Curious, Donna had hurriedly opened the gift as Felicity read the inside of the card.

_Thought you might need these. I hear the sand of Orlando beaches can be particularly brutal. – OQ_

Donna held out the two-toned rimmed glasses, a tender look behind her large blue eyes. "These look familiar," she commented. Felicity took them from her, examining the frames with her own strange welling of emotion.

"They do, don't they?" Felicity agreed, glancing down to read the note once more. She rolled her eyes at his words, and the gesture itself, though she couldn't help the goofy grin on her face. That night she'd taken out her contact lenses to wash her face and reached for the glasses afterward. She hadn't worn the contacts since.

"So I got your gift," she told Oliver the following day when Donna headed out to the pool.

"Not really a gift if it already belongs to you," he replied over the sound of the Ducati's engine. "They've been here in the foundry for a while and I thought you might need them sooner or later. You used to always complain about contacts."

"Want to hear something funny?" Felicity asked.

"Always," he deadpanned. She rolled her eyes and continued. "It took me two weeks to realize I needed corrective lenses back at the compound. I assumed the blurred vision and headaches were a lingering side effect of the alleged concussion from my _terrible_ accident."

There was a beat longer than normal pause before Oliver answered. "Hilarious," he said, sounding not the slightest bit amused. Felicity realized then that they hadn't spoken very much about her time on Battleship Island, the subject seeming to put Oliver on edge now.

"Guess that should've been my first clue that I hadn't always been as close to Alan as he let on."

The motorcycle engine suddenly cut off, Oliver having apparently pulled over. "It's not your fault you didn't catch on. You had no reason or memory to doubt him."

"I know," she replied. The wounds she'd taken with her from the island, from her time spent with her father, were still painful, but she no longer tried to suppress the memories. Though it felt more like a terrible dream, it had all actually happened. She had been manipulated into believing that her father loved her, only to discover the man Alan Smoak truly was. And then she'd left him behind to die. Felicity knew that she would struggle over that decision for the rest of her life - the guilt and the relief forever at odds - but she was learning day by day how to live with her demons. For now, that was enough.

"I just feel like I should've at least suspected. I mean, I used to read up on the Star City vigilante when Alan wasn't around. Should've guess or at least wondered why I was so drawn to you…

"To the vigilante, I mean," she corrected quickly.

"Your subconscious was trying to answer what your brain had yet to ask," he reasoned.

"Anyway," she misdirected. "What's on your agenda for today?"

"I've got lunch with Walter. That's where I'm headed now. He's going to offer me a job, I think. He's worried about my being too idle." He huffed.

"Your stepfather?"

"That's right."

"And I knew him. Before?"

"Yeah, you did." Oliver paused for a second. "Do you remember that?"

"I don't think so, but maybe. I don't know."

"That's all right, Felicity," he assured when she drew in a frustrated breath. "He's been asking about you. He's always liked you."

"Really?"

The Ducati roared to life again and Oliver raised his voice to respond. "I'll tell you more if you want me to, but I think you'd like to work that one out for yourself."

He was right, she did want to figure that particular puzzle out on her own, though she had no idea why.

"I don't like puzzles. They need to be solved," she mumbled, feeling that eerie sensation tugging at the back of her mind again.

"That's why you're so good at them."

And that was why Walter Steele had been occupying her thoughts ever since. Her spare time was spent pouring over internet articles and financial statements for Oliver's former stepfather, who'd been a longtime friend and business partner to Robert Queen. Felicity learned everything there was to know about the successful Brit, but came no closer to discovering her personal connection to him. It was there though, of that much she was certain. And for some reason she'd come to the conclusion that solving this mystery would help fill in the other glaring holes of her memory.

She opened her suitcase and found her tablet, turning it on to reveal the bookmarked pages and notes she had been keeping on Steele. The answers would not be found amongst the vague business profiles however; she knew that they all lay buried in her own subconscious, waiting for that one lightning bolt burst of clarity that would awaken all of those dormant memories.

At some point in the afternoon Felicity must have drifted off to sleep as she read over the notes on Walter. She suspected this because she was only 98% sure that she was dreaming, finding herself in a dimly lit office suite surrounded by computer screens. Which was not so unusual in of itself, but the large and very alive Panda bear lounging at her feet was pretty suspect.

The large, ridiculously cute animal didn't unnerve her however, for Felicity was too focused on the small notebook on her desk top, lying open to reveal hundreds of blank pages that she leafed through one by one. A gentle knock on the open glass door had her looking up to see Walter Steele entering the room.

Felicity waited as he took the seat in front of her. All of the questions she knew she should be asking him vanished under his scrutiny; she closed the notebook with a sigh. "There's nothing here," she told him.

"I know," he replied, his thick British accent coloring his indifferent tone.

"You don't understand. It's all blank. There aren't any answers here; no clues to be found."

"I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Ms. Smoak. That's why I sent him to you. I know you can solve this."

"But the pages are blank, Mr. Steele," she argued.

"Look harder," he urged, leaning forward to open the book again. He waited until she picked it up once more, her thumb flipping through the pages and fanning her face. As she did so, words began to appear on each page. Stunned, she paused on one page to read over the list of names handwritten there. Then one by one the names were crossed off with a single line by an invisible force.

Felicity glanced back up, excited and astonished, but found that Walter had vanished. She was now face to face with none other than Oliver Queen. The scene had changed, the office replaced with the interior of Big Belly Burger where Oliver sat at the front windows, turning away from the steady drizzle of rain to flash a cocky grin her way.

"Can I trust you?" she asked him, gripping the book tighter in her palms.

"Yes, Felicity. You can trust me."

Felicity woke with a start, sitting straight up on the futon and sending the tablet falling to the floor. The sun was setting outside and she shook her groggy head. A small smile formed on her lips as the details of the dream came flooding back to her.

Walter. The notebook. The names. Walter's abduction. Oliver.

It all began falling into place, one by one like pieces of a gigantic puzzle.

"Everything about you just became unbelievably clear," she'd told him as lie bleeding in the backseat of her car.

"MOM!" Felicity yelled, bounding to her feet. "I remember!"

* * *

Felicity hadn't told anyone she was coming, and had made her mother swear to not breathe a word. It was just before midnight when she pulled into the lot behind Verdant. She'd spent all of the night before and most of that morning retelling what she remembered to Donna, and could barely contain her bubbling excitement as more and more details began unraveling.

She couldn't wait to tell the others, to tell_ him_, but there was something she had to do first. Donna's regular stylist had squeezed Felicity in on short notice, and she'd left the salon feeling more like herself than she had in ages.

Racing through the back entry to walk into the basement, she was greeted by the familiar smells of the foundry and the humming sounds of equipment. Diggle was poised against her desk, arms folded as a broad smile appeared on his face. She walked right into his embrace when he opened his arms, pressing her face into his chest as he gently cupped the back of her head.

"Love the hair," he commented.

"Thanks."

"You look like you," he added, a smile in his voice. She squeezed him tighter.

"I feel like me," she replied. Digg stepped back to look in her eyes, holding on to the tops of her arms as he searched her face.

"Yeah?"

"Yep." She beamed up at him, and he wrapped his arms around her again, this time hauling her off of the floor entirely. "I missed you too, Digg."

He sat her back down with a laugh. "I've got to call Oliver!"

Felicity stopped him with a hand on his bicep and took the seat in front of her computers. Her seat. "What's the mission tonight?" she asked, putting in the ear piece he offered and going to work on the keyboard as Digg filled her in.

She was home.

The night had been pretty standard as far as Team Arrow was used to. Felicity's technical expertise was needed very little, and for that she'd let Diggle relay her instructions to the others. When Oliver finally called it a night and told Roy to head back to the foundry, Felicity's stomach was a mess of nerves. Digg muted the com link and leaned back in his chair to regard her fully.

"So you remembered something?"

"Everything, I think," she answered, swiveling in her chair to face him. "Most of my origin story on Team Arrow at least." And all of her feelings for Oliver, which she didn't bother saying. Because along with those feelings, she remembered Oliver's resolve that they could never be together like that. Digg must've guessed where her thoughts had taken her because he leaned forward in his seat and fixed his loaded gaze on her.

"Hey. It's going to work out."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you spent your time waiting on him and now he's done his part waiting on you. You idiots have run out of excuses."

Felicity laughed, hoping he was right this time. But then she realized something profound. Being with Oliver wasn't the end game for her; wasn't the point she'd been fighting so hard to reach. Though it would definitely be an added bonus, her goal had been to remember everything that helped make her into the person she was today. The good and the bad, the terrible and the wonderful. She was back where she belonged, where she was needed, and that was all that mattered.

She smiled at Digg, spinning full circle in her chair. "Either way, I'm good."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. I'm back." Felicity shrugged her shoulders, the relief felt in those small words affecting her mentally, physically, and emotionally. As such, she smiled in pure contentment.

The beep of the overhead door's alarm alerted their attention to someone's approach. Felicity and Digg both turned to watch Roy descending the stairs with Oliver at his heels.

"I'm just saying that the guy had it coming anyway," Roy was saying. "It's not like he'll prosper in prison."

"We aren't judge and jury here, Roy," Oliver replied, his tone impatient as if it were a conversation they'd held on more than one occasion.

"Well we could be. Laurel shouldn't get to have the fun _and _the glory." Roy halted at the base of the steps, mouth falling open once spotting Felicity. Oliver stepped around him, casting Roy an annoyed look until following his gaze toward her. Felicity unclasped her grip on the chair arms to raise them palms up beside her. "Surprise!" she squeaked.

"Blondie!" Roy shouted, grinning from ear to ear as he crossed the remaining distance. "You're back?"

"So it would seem," she replied, spinning in her chair once more.

"I mean, you're _back_ back? Like for good?"

"I'm back back," she affirmed. "If you'll have me, that is." She cast her eyes quickly over to Oliver, whom had yet to move an inch. His expression was frozen in that frustrating yet ridiculously attractive and unreadable expression.

"Thank God!" Roy exclaimed. "No offense, Digg."

"None taken," Digg said beside her.

Felicity stood to hug Roy, resolutely avoiding Oliver's gaze by squeezing her eyes shut. Roy tugged her blonde ponytail, which was barely long enough to tie back, and stepped out of her embrace to look her up and down. "Florida agrees with you, Barbie. Your freckles are showing again."

"I think I've had enough D to last me a while," she replied, immediately wincing when Roy's eyebrows shot up. "_Vitamin_ D. As in sunshine. That's the only D I've had in a long time. Which none of you needed to know. Shutting up now."

Roy and Digg laughed, the sound echoing in the foundry. "Man, I've missed your dirty mind," Roy managed to remark in between breaths.

"Shut up," Felicity told him, smiling despite her humiliation.

"So how was Disney?" Roy asked. "Was it magical? Digg showed me some of the pictures Donna sent him. Those light up mouse ears really worked for you."

Felicity was shaking her head, her cheeks warming as she opened her mouth to curse her mother's newly developed texting habits, but Digg stepped in before she could speak and laid a hand on Roy's shoulder.

"We can hear all about that later, kid," he told Roy, flashing him a pointed look when the younger man started to object. Roy caught on quickly, nodding. "Right," he said, grinning suggestively when Felicity ducked her chin in embarrassment. She was a bundle of nervous tension, the butterflies in her stomach robbing her of any witty retorts, or oxygen for that matter.

"It's good to have you back, Felicity," Roy told her, turning serious as he reached out and squeezed her arm.

"Thanks, Roy. It's good to be back." Roy retrieved his duffle bag and headed toward the door. Digg hugged Felicity and followed Roy, stopping to relay an unspoken message to Oliver as he passed, to which Oliver nodded once without taking his eyes from Felicity.

She waited until the door clicked shut behind them before breaking the heavy silence. "Hey."

Oliver tilted his head to the side as if analyzing her single word greeting. "Hey yourself." His voice was husky, his tone devoid of emotion. Felicity swallowed the nervousness rising in her throat.

"Quiet night?" she asked, for want of something – anything – to talk about.

"I haven't heard from you in four days" was his response. She instantly bristled, crossing her arms at the sound of his almost reprimanding tone.

"I've been sort of busy."

"Yeah?" Oliver took a measured step into the room, transferring his bow to the other hand.

"Yeah. Donna says hello, by the way. She mentioned wanting to do brunch soon. Bacon, I assume."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "I'd like that."

"I think she has a crush on you," Felicity told him, her tone still annoyed. Oliver crossed the space to set his bow on the table between them.

"I doubt that."

"How come?"

"Because she knows how I feel about you," he stated matter-of-factly. Felicity blanched, taken off guard by his bluntness.

"Oh." She mentally kicked herself for her lack of tact. Oliver began removing his quiver and jacket, placing them beside his bow. "I had a dream about your stepdad," Felicity blurted. Oliver's movements stilled, quirking an eyebrow toward her. "Not like a dirty dream," she rushed to clarify with a nervous laugh. "Totally clean and not-weird. Well I guess not totally unweird; there was a rather large panda bear in it. On my feet, specifically, but not as heavy as one would imagine. That's not really-"

"Felicity," he interrupted with that patient tone of his, helping her back on track.

"Right. _Walter_," she said, unnecessarily straightening her glasses to help regain focus. "He was in my office, in the dream. He had brought me a book. A notebook full of blank pages, names written in invisible ink."

She paused to let that sink in; Oliver's face froze in another unreadable expression as he waited for her to continue. "That was the reason he was abducted," she continued in a hushed voice. "Why I eventually approached you about the notebook, because I'd guessed you were more than a generically charming playboy. And that's how we met, how _this_," she gestured around them. "All started. For me, at least. Because that day I made the decision to trust you."

Oliver's face softened as she spoke and he placed his hand on the table top, rapping his knuckles on the surface and gliding his fingers across it as he rounded the corner to stand in front of her. "That's not how we met," he informed her, though his face and eyes were the picture of relief, satisfied and content.

Felicity looked up to meet his gaze, narrowing her eyebrows. "It's not?"

"Nope," he affirmed, eyes smiling first until the slight upturn of his mouth completed the look. It was a good look on him, she mentally noted as his lips momentarily stole her attention. "We actually met a few weeks earlier, when I needed help with my laptop. When Walter had given me a name of the perfect person to help.

"Felicity Smoak," he said the name with reverence, drawing out its syllables in a way that only Oliver could manage. Felicity forgot to breathe; Oliver's smile turned into a smirk and he dropped his eyes, shaking his head as the memory of their first encounter seemed to amuse him all over again.

Felicity searched his face, her own smile forming as the meeting in question started formulating in her mind's eye. She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips.

"I hope you've since found a safer coffee shop Mr. Queen, because you truly are a walking, talking Shakespearean trope."

The words had barely escaped her lips when they were crushed by Oliver's mouth. The kiss was filled with longing, yet tender and discovering at the same time, unlike the heated desperation of their last kiss. The passion was still very present though, warming her from the inside out. When he cupped the sides of her face, Felicity parted her lips to deepen the kiss and pressed herself closer to him.

Oliver broke away suddenly and stared into her slightly unfocused eyes; his pupils were completely shot as he searched hers, seeing beyond, seeing into the very depths of her soul. Felicity melted under his gaze, fingers tightening on their hold of his wrists.

"I love you, Felicity Smoak. Do you understand?"

His expression was almost pained, so filled with emotion that it seemed to overwhelm his normal, practiced control. She nodded through her tears, feeling his words course through her entire being. "No fake outs. No take backs. No ifs, ands, or maybes. Just now and forever," he continued, his words spilling out in quick succession. "I want it all, Felicity. I want it all with you-"

"Oliver."

Once she cut his words off, he pressed his lips in a taught line as if to block any more from spilling out. "Hmm?"

"I love you too. Now will you stop babbling and kiss me," she demanded.

Oliver grinned almost wickedly, the Queen charm appearing as his lips hovered over hers. "3, 2, 1…" he murmured, mimicking her own exercise and somehow making it sound a lot sexier, before graciously complying to her command.

_The End._


End file.
